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LIBRARY 

UNIVBWITY  OF 
CAUFOtWA 


tjj*  game  &ut|)or. 


Just  Published, 

L—SHEPPERTON  MANOR :  A  Tale  of  the  Times 
of  BISHOP  ANDREWES.  Foolscap  8vo.  Prive  5s., 
cloth. 

"  A  very  well  told  tale,  in  which  the  condition  of  the 
English  Church  in  1616  is  faithfully  pourtrayed.  The  persecu- 
tions endured  by  a  recusant,  and  the  conversion  of  his  daughter 
to  the  Church  'of  England,  form  the  most  interesting  features 
of  the  work;  and  we  are  happy  to  observe  that  the  tone  of 
feeling  in  regard  to  the  Church  is  cordial  and  respectful.  Mr. 
.Neale  possesses  considerable  ability  as  a  writer,  and  we  shall 
be  glad  to  meet  him  again." — English  Review,  Jan.  1845. 

II.— TRIUMPHS  OF  THE  CROSS.  Tales  and 
Sketches  of  CHRISTIAN  HEROISM.  [Vol.  VI. 
of  the  JUVENILE  ENGLISHMAN'S  LIBEAKY.] 
Cloth,  2s. 

III.— THE  PLACE  WHERE  PRAYER  WAS 
WONT  TO  BE  MADE.  The  Introduction  of 
the  System  of  PRIVATE  DEVOTION  in  CHURCHES 
considered  in  a  Letter  to  the  Venerable  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  Cambridge  Camden  Society.  Demy 
8vo.,  Is. 

IV.— HIEROLOGUS ;  or  the  Church  Tourists.  Fools- 
cap 8vo.,  price  6s.  cloth. 

Preparing  for  Publication. 
A  HISTORY  of  ANCIENT  GREECE  for  Children. 


LOAN  STAfg . 


TO    THE 

REV    R.  T.  LOWE,  M.A., 

BRITISH    CHAPLAIN,    AT    MADEIRA, 


WRITTEN,    FOR   THE    MOST    PART,    IN    THAT    ISLAND, 

ARE, 

IN    TOKEN    OF    RESPECT   ARD   GRATITUDE, 
INSCRIBED   BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


781 


PREFACE. 


IT  has  been  well  observed  that  in  relating  the  various 
contests  between  the  Church  and  the  world  historians 
have  always  sided  with  the  latter  against  the  former. 
The  mystical  Powers  and  Divine  Claims  of  the  one  have 
been  set  down  to  presumption  and  bigotry :  the  earthly 
wisdom  and  unprincipled  expediency  of  the  other  have 
been  lauded  as  the  security  of  'Civil  and  Religious 
Liberty.'  Therefore  it  is  that  a  brand  has  been  fixed  to 
the  names  of  such  men  as  S.  Ambrose,  and  S.  Gregory 
VII.,  and  Nicon :  as  S.  Dunstan,  and  S.  Anselm,  and 
S.  Thomas  of  Canterbury,  and  Laud,  and  Bancroft. 
Had  they  been  of  the  world,  the  world  would  have  loved 
its  own. 


V1U  PREFACE. 

In  direct  contradiction  to  this  popular  view,  the 
object  of  the  following  ballads  is  to  set  the  principal 
events  of  the  Church  History  of  Britain  before  the 
reader,  in  that  light  in  which  they  appeared  to  the  con- 
temporary Church.  It  is  plain  that  general  effect  is 
rather  to  be  regarded  in  them,  than  minute  historical 
accuracy.  We,  writing  at  such  a  distance  of  time,  and 
without  a  practical  acquaintance  with  the  Ritual  of  the 
unreformed  Church,  can  only  hope  to  attain  to  the  out- 
lines of  the  picture,  and  the  strongest  lights  and  shadows : 
minuteness  in  the  scenery  aud  landscape  is  out  of  the 
question.  Or,  to  make  use  of  another  comparison,  we 
may  hope  to  be  like  some  Catholick-minded  architect  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  who,  though  unable  to  recall 
the  details  of  Christian  art,  might  yet,  by  arrangement 
and  grouping,  succeed  in  producing  a  Catholick  effect. 

Notes  and  introductions  have  been  added  where  they 
might,  by  any  possibility,  be  considered  necessary ;  and 
the  writer  trusts  that  he  has  not,  ignorantly,  as  assuredly 
he  has  not  wilfully,  misrepresented  any  fact  or  character. 
If  he  shall  appear  in  any  case  to  have  passed  a  pre- 
sumptuous judgment,  it  must  be  remembered  that  his 
aim  was  to  point  out  the  manner  in  which,  even  in  this 


PREFACE.  ix 

life,  sinners  have  been  visited  by  the  Hand  of  GOD.  If 
his  language  shall  ever  seem  too  strong,  it  must  be  borne 
in  mind  that  a  ballad,  in  its  very  nature,  requires  strong 
language,  inasmuch  as  it  is  supposed  to  be  addressed  to 
those  who  are  not  so  alive,  as  a  reader  of  more  cultivated 
mind,  to  implied  censure,  or  inuendo. 

It  may  be  proper  to  add,  that  the  whole  of  the 
following  ballads  were  written  before  the  appearance  of 
the  first  part  of  the  "  Lives  of  the  Saints." 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

S.  Alban,  the  Protomartyr  of  England 1 

The  Mission  of  S.  Augustine 5 

King  Edwin's  Witenagemot 8 

The  Battle  of  Maser,  and  Martyrdom  of  S.  Oswald. .  14 

The  Pilgrimage  of  S.  Etheldreda 18 

Venerable  Bede 21 

The  Martyrdom  of  S.  Edmund 24 

The  Battle  of  Essendune 26 

S.  Eadburga's  Choice 30 

The  Martyrdom  of  S.  Elphege 33 

The  Legend  of  S.  Aidan 36 

The  Battle  of  Hastings ;, 37 

The  Martyrdom  of  Waltheoff 42 

The  Defence  of  S.  Wulfstan 44 

The  Conqueror's  Death 47 

The  Last  Hunt  of  William  Rufus 52 

The  Martyrdom  of  S.  Thomas 57 

The  Battle  of  the  Standard 62 

The  Battle  of  the  Galliots 66 

The  Siege  of  Jaffa 74 

King  John  crosses  the  Wash 80 

The  Funeral  of  Queen  Eleanor 83 


CONTENTS.  Xi 

Page. 

The  Dissolution  of  the  Religious  Houses 86 

The  Curse  of  the  Abbeys 94 

The  Discovery  of  Madeira 97 

King  Charles  the  Martyr  sets  up  his   Standard  at 

Nottingham 102 

Lord  Brooke  is  shot  before  Lichneld  Cathedral Ill 

Bishop  Wren  in  the  Tower 116 

The  Martyrdom  of  Archbishop  Laud 118 

Death  of  the  Princess  Elizabeth 122 

The  White  King's  Funeral 125 

The  Death  of  Lord  Derby 128 

The  Death  of  Oliver  Cromwell 129 

King  Charles  the  Second  makes  his  public  Entry  on 

Blackheath 132 

The  Great  Plague 137 

Bishop  Bull  receives  the  thanks  of  the  Gallicaii  Church  143 

The  Death  of  Bishop  Kidder 146 

Bishops  Fullarton  and  Sage  are  consecrated  in  Scotland  150 

The  Death  of  Bishop  Jolly 153 

The  Parting  of  the  Bishops  of  Australia  and  New 

Zealand,  at  Sydney 155 

L'Envoy > 158 


jHtrror  of 


2?.  'aifcan,  i\)t  protomartpr  of  ISnglantr. 


THE  Church  of  England  early  acquired  considerable  re  - 
putation.  It  is  always,by  contemporary  writers,  put  on 
an  equality  with  those  of  Spain  and  Gaul ;  and  to 
the  council  of  Aries,  A.  D.  314,  it  sent  three  bishops, 
those,  namely,  of  York,  London,  and  Richborough. 
The  persecution  of  Dioclesian,  though  the  imperial  edict 
was  but  coldly  received  by  Constantius,  the  Prefect  of 
Britain,  raged  with  considerable  violence.  Alban,  a 
soldier  by  profession,  and  an  inhabitant  of  Verulam, 
having  sheltered  Amphibalus,  an  aged  priest,  was  put 
to  death  in  a  popular  insurrection  ;  while  Amphibalus 


2  S.  ALBAN. 

himself,  since  added  to  the  number  of  the  Saints,  fled  to 
Lichfield,  and  there,  with  his  companions,  received  the 
crown  of  Martyrdom.  From  their  passion  that  city 
received  its  present  name,  "  The  Field  of  the  Dead ;" 
and,  in  allusion  to  it,  the  Corporate  arms  have  the  singu- 
lar charge,  "  Divers  Martyrs  in  sundry  manners  put  to 
death."  The  body  of  S.  Alban  was  buried  on  the  spot 
where  he  suffered ;  his  relics  are  said  to  have  been  dis- 
covered by  the  miraculous  apparition  of  a  ray  of  light, 
which  in  the  dead  of  night  streamed  down  upon  his 
grave  The  abbey  church  of  S.  Alban's,  founded  by 
Oifa,  king  of  Mercia,  in  793,  was  built  over  the  spot : 
the  place  where  the  magnificent  shrine  once  stood  may 
still  be  seen  behind  the  high  Altar,  and  a  plain  stone 
bears  the  legend,  "  Albanus  Anglia3  Protomartyr."  The 
Lord  Abbat  of  S.  Alban's,  in  consequence  of  the  pri- 
ority of  the  Martyrdom  of  that  Saint,  took  precedence 
all  the  mitred  houses ;  though  a  few  of  them,  e.  g.  S. 
Edmundsbury,  were  superior  in  wealth  to  his  own. 
The  abbey  church,  destined,  like  Glastonbury  and  Read- 
ing, to  be  pulled  down,  was  preserved,  at  the  Reforma- 
tion, by  the  piety  of  the  inhabitants,  who  purchased 
it  for  themselves. 

O  WEEP  not  for  him.  that  hath  gotten  the  day, 
Hath  a  mansion  of  light  for  a  cottage  of  clay ; 
Hath  looked  the  last  enemy  full  in  the  face ; 
Hath  fought  the  good  fight,  and  hath  finished  his  race. 


S.   ALBAN.  o 

O  weep  not  for  him  that,  a  moment  ago, 
Was  an  heir  of  corruption,  an  exile  in  woe, 
But  now  hath  a  garment  more  gloriously  bright, 
Than  royal  Constantius  on  festival  night! 

Returning  in  peace  from  the  enemy's  shore, 
With  the  captives  behind,  and  the  lictors  before, 
When  the  populace  shout,  and  the  consulars  bow, 
He  hath  not  the  glory  Albanus  hath  now ! 

When  the  trumpet  sounds  poean  for  victory  gain'd, 
And  the  prize  is  assigned  by  the  judges  ordained, 
And  the  theatre  shines  in  its  festal  array, 
Would  ye  weep  that  the  athlete  receiveth  the  bay  ? 

CHRIST'S  hero  confronted  the  enemy's  rage,* 
With  GOD  for  his  judge,  and  the  world  for  his  stage ; 
The  fiend  and  the  foeman  in  vain  would  confound ; 
The  Martyr  expired,  but  the  victor  was  crowned  ! 

Ye  ask  me  where  now  our  Albanus  doth  rest ; 

He  hath  found  a  sweet  home  upon  Abraham's  breast ;  f 

*  See  the  beautiful  and  frequently  occurring  passages  in  S.  Chry- 
sostom's  earlier  homilies  on  the  Statues,  where  this  idea  is  expanded, 
and  applied  to  Job,  and  to  the  Three  Children. 

t  "  He  resteth  in  Abraham's  bosom,"  says  S.  Jerome,  speaking  of  a 
departed  friend  :  "  if  thou  enquirest  what  felicity  is  contained  in  that 
expression,  I  cannot  tell ;  GOD  knoweth  :  whatsoever  joy  is  therein 
signified,  that  doth  he  who  hath  left  us  partake." 


4  S.  ALBAN. 

But  who  can  conceive  the  full  joy  of  his  lot, 
Since  we  can  but  describe  it  by  that  it  is  not  ? 

No  more  suns  that  go  down— no  more  stars  that  arise; 
No  more  grief — no  more  pain — no  more  tears — no  more 

sighs  ; 

And,  to  sum  its  full  blessedness  up  in  one  breath, 
No  more  terror  and  anguish,  because — no  more  death  ! 

Apostles,  and  Martyrs,  and  Kings  he  beholds, 
And  Prophets,  and  Bishops  that  died  for  their  folds; 
And  all  that  is  holy,  and  all  that  is  fair, 
Inherits  a  tearless  eternity  there !  * 

To  its  deep  mountain  sources  the  Tiber  may  flow ; 
The  seven-hilled  city  be  sacked  by  the  foe ; 
The  Caesar,  his  name  and  his  fame,  be  forgot; 
But  Britain's  first  Martyr,  ALBANUS,  shall  not ! 


*  "  A  tearless  eternity."  Such  is  Pindar's  noble  expression,  in  de- 
scribing the  Fortunate  Islands  and  their  inhabitants :  abaKpw  vepoinat 
u<wva.  Olymp.  II.  120. 


S.   AUGUSTINE. 
II. 

J&ission  of  S.  Augustine. 


As  the  Saxons  spread  themselves  over  England,  the 
Church  was  gradually  confined  to  the  fastnesses  of 
Wales  and  Cornwall :  and  even  there,  it  is  to  be  feared, 
had  lost  much  of  its  piety.  The  circumstances  which 
are  said  to  have  turned  the  attention  of  S.  Gregory  the 
Great  to  the  conversion  of  the  Angles,  the  children 
whom  he  saw  exposed  at  Rome,  and  his  play  on  the  names 
of  their  country  and  province,  are  well  known.  Be  these 
as  they  may,  certain  it  is  that,  sent  by  him,  S.  Augustine, 
(whose  memory  we  celebrate  on  the  26th  of  May) 
landed,  with  forty  companions,  in  the  Isle  of  Thanet,  in 
the  year  598 :  were  favourably  received  by  Ethelbert, 
King  of  Kent,  a  prince  whose  authority  was  in  reality 
acknowledged  by  all  the  petty  states  south  of  the 
Humber:  were  made  the  means  of  his  conversion: 
were  put  in  possession  of  the  city  of  Canterbury,  (where 
the  British  church  of  S.  Martin  was  first  used  by 
them :)  and  from  thence,  as  from  a  center,  spread  the 
knowledge  of  the  One  Faith  over  his  whole  kingdom. 
Through  S.  Augustine,  himself  consecrated  by  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Aries,  it  is  needless  to  say  that  our  present 
succession  is  derived.  The  frequent  occurrence  of  this 


6  S.    AUGUSTINE. 

most  Catholick  subject  in  the  lately  exhibited  cartoons,  is 
a  cheering  proof  of  the  revival  of  a  better  feeling  with 
respect  to  our  Blessed  Saints. 


KING  Ethelbert  sits  in  his  power  and  his  pride ; 
The  High  Priest  of  Woden  is  close  at  his  side : 
His  vassals  and  liegemen  in  seemly  array 
Are  waiting  the  stranger's  arrival  to  day. 

They  rest  in  the  glade,  where  the  aged  oak  spreads 
His  hundred  green  branches  to  shelter  their  heads, 
Lest  the  words  of  the  aliens  enchantment  should  fling* 
By  magic  device  o'er  the  soul  of  the  king. 

The  true-hearted  pilgrims !  Like  exiles  they  went, 
From  their  own  sunny  shores  to  the  forests  of  Kent : 
They  came  not  for  war  and  for  conquest  arrayed ; 
They  came  not  with  banner  and  ensign  displayed ; 

Yet  theirs  was  a  conflict  more  glorious  to  wage, 
Than  those  that  shine  brightest  in  history's  page  : 
Yet  theirs  was  a  conquest  more  glorious  to  win, 
Than  those  of  earth's  victors, — o'er  darkness  and  sin. 

*  By  the  advice  of  his  priests,  Ethelbert  received  S.  Augustine 
under  an  oak,  that  tree  being-  supposed  to  possess  a  virtue  against 
magic. 


S.   AUGUSTINE.  7 

The  silver  cross  gleams  for  their  banner  afar ; 
Their  clarions  and  trumpets  sweet  litanies  are  ;* 
And  Augustine  is  standing  at  Ethelbert's  throne, 
His  message  of  love  and  of  peace  to  make  known. 

Oh  blest  be  the  day  that  Saint  Gregory  gave 
The  mission,  *  not  Angles  but  Angels'  to  save ; 
And  the  hour  that  Augustine  drew  near  with  his  band, 
And  ENGLAND'S  APOSTLE  first  spake  in  her  land ! 

*  History  has  preserved  the  litany  sung  at  the  entrance  of  the  mis- 
sionaries, when  they  took  possession  of  Canterbury  :  "  By  Thy  mercy, 
O  LORD,  we  beseech  Thee  to  turn  away  Thy  wrath  from  this  city,  and 
Thy  Holy  Temple  ;  for  we  are  sinners.  Hallelujah." 


KING  EDWIN'S 
III. 


Ifctng 


S.  AUGUSTINE  had  gone  to  his  rest  :  but  the  Catholick 
faith  spread  rapidly  among  the  Saxons.  S.  Paulinus, 
having  received  episcopal  consecration,  betook  himself 
to  the  court  of  Edwin,  King  of  Northumbria.  This 
prince  was  an  idolater  :  his  queen  Edilberga,  daughter 
to  that  King  Ethelbert  who  had  been  converted  by 
S.  Augustine,  was  a  Christian.  At  her  instance,  after 
an  escape  from  assassination,  Edwin  consented  that 
his  daughter  should  be  baptised  ;  and  shortly  afterwards, 
in  a  dangerous  war  with  the  King  of  Wessex,  he  pro- 
mised to  become  a  Christian  if  he  should  return  victo- 
rious. After  subduing  his  enemy,  he  convened  a  Wite- 
nagemot  or  council  at  York  :  its  deliberations  are,  in  the 
following  ballad,  versified  pretty  exactly  from  the  his- 
torian. 

KING  Edwin  sat  among  his  thanes  ; 

and  council  sage  held  they, 
If  they  should  cast  to  bats  and  owls 

their  fathers'  gods  away  : 
Strangers  had  gone  throughout  the  land, 

in  hovel  and  in  hall 
Preaching  one  faith  in  GOD  on  high, 

the  Father  of  us  all  : 


WITENAGEMOT. 

The  King,  by  Wessex  men  assailed, 

to  GOD  had  vowed  a  vow, 
If  now  his  enemies  should  fail, — 

if  he  should  vanquish  now, 
And  so  return,  in  wealth  and  peace, 

to  rule  Northumbria's  state, 
By  water  at  the  Holy  Font 

to  be  illuminate. 

Up  riseth  Saint  Paulinus  first ; 

"  ye  know  how,  day  by  day, 
With  tears  I  have  besought  this  land 

to  ponder  what  I  say ; 
How  I  have  preached  of  One  Great  GOD, 

by  all  to  be  adored ; 
And  of  one  Saviour,  JESUS  CHEIST, 

His  Only  SON  our  LORD  : 
And  that  He  came  with  humbleness 

His  blood  for  us  to  shed ; 
But  He  shall  come  with  majesty, 

to  judge  the  quick  and  dead ; 
And  of  the  HOLY  GKOST  on  high, 

and  of  the  last  great  Doom ; 
The  Resurrection  of  the  Dead, 

and  of  the  Life  to  come." 


10  KING  EDWIN'S 

Then  out  and  spake  old  Coiffi, — 

Thors'  priest  renowned  was  he : 
"  Long  at  the  altars  of  our  gods 

I've  bowed  my  aged  knee  ; 
I  never  missed  our  fathers'  rites ; 

I  worshipp'd  every  day, 
When  others  came  inconstantly, 

or  turned  with  scorn  away  ; 
Yet  these  be  they  that  thrive  in  power, 

and  grow  in  riches  still, 
While  I,  for  all  my  services, 

have  met  with  grief  and  ill ; 
Wherefore,  my  sentence,  lords  and  thanes, 

adviseth  to  forsake 
The  gods  that  of  their  worshippers 

so  ill  observance  make." 

Then  out  and  spake  an  ancient  thatie, 

sat  at  the  king's  right  hand : 
"  Full  oft,  O  King,  in  winter  night, 

when  frost  is  o'er  the  land, 
And  in  thy  hall,  around  the  fire, 

we  sit  and  make  good  cheer, 
A  small  bird  seeks  the  light  and  heat, 

a  moment  tarrying  here ; 


WITENAGEMOT.  11 

Out  of  the  darkness  it  escapes, 

and  into  darkness  darts ; 
But  whence  it  cometh  none  can  tell, 

nor  whither  it  departs  : 
So  in  the  brightness  of  this  life 

hath  man  a  little  share, 
Coming— our  wise  men  say  not  whence, 

to  go — they  know  not  where. 

"  Wherefore,  if  aught  these  strangers  preach 

can  chace  the  doubt  and  fear 
That  hangeth  o'er  the  future  life, 

in  GOD'S  Name,  let  us  hear !" 
Then  up  rose  good  Paulinus, 

and  blessing  Him  above 
That  gave  them  ears  to  hear  that  day, 

he  spake  the  words  of  love  : 
Of  temperance,  of  righteousness, 

and  of  the  Crown  on  high, 
That  shall  be  won  by  actions  done 

in  this  life  virtuously ; 
And  how  the  wicked,  after  death, 

have  heritage  in  hell, 
In  chains,  and  fire,  and  darkness,  there 

eternally  to  dwell. 


12  KING  EDWIN'S 

Then  out  and  spake  old  Coiffi, — 

"  a  horse  and  arms !"  he  cried : 
(Priest  that  before  that  day  had  touched 

or  horse  or  arms  had  died)  : 
He  rideth  forth,  he  turneth  north  ; 

the  crowd  press  on  with  speed ; 
At  Thor's  old  shrine,  Godmundingham, 

he  reined  his  foaming  steed : 
Forthwith,  with  mighty  force,  he  hurls 

his  javelin  in  the  wall : 
The  crowd,  aghast,  stand  back  to  see 

the  god's  great  vengeance  fall. 
"  Down  with  the  walls,"  at  length  they  cry, 

"  reared  first  for  power  and  pelf, 
Down  with  the  temple  of  the  god 

that  cannot  help  himself!" 

They  gave  their  idols  to  the  wind ; 

their  vengeance  they  despised  : 
The  Bretwald*  of  Northumbria 

believed  and  was  baptized ; 
The  priests  were  at  the  river-side 

from  morning  on  till  eve, 

*  Bretwalda,  that  is,  Wielder  of  Britain, — a  title  of  honour  given 
to  certain  of  the  most  powerful  Saxon  princes. 


WITENAGEMOT.  13 

Into  the  Ark  of  Holy  Church 

fresh  converts  to  receive ; 
And  churches  rose  in  hill  and  vale, 

and  matin  strains  were  sung, 
And  woods,  and  caves,  and  desert  moors, 

with  hermits'  vespers  rung : 
And  good  Paulinus  sat,  renown'd 

for  fasting  and  for  prayer, 
First  of  a  line  of  Blessed  Saints, 

in  York's  Cathedral  Chair.* 

*  For  King-  Edwin's  seat  was  at  York  ;  and  the  Church  in  Britain, 
as  elsewhere,  generally  followed  in  her  divisions  and  territorial  dis- 
tinctions those  of  the  state. 


14  THE   BATTLE 


IV. 

W)t  ISattle  of  J&aaer, 

AND 

of  55.  ©stoaltr. 


(A.D.  642.) 

EDWIN'S  subsequent  reign  was  for  some  years  charac- 
terized by  such  deep  security,  that  (as  a  proverb,  quoted 
and  attested  by  V.  Bede,  assures  us,)  in  his  time,  a  wo- 
man, with  a  babe  at  her  breast,  might  have  passed  un- 
harmed from  one  end  of  his  territory  to  another.  But 
seven  years  after  his  conversion,  he  was  attacked  by 
Penda,  the  pagan  King  of  Mercia,  and  in  the  battle  of 
Hatfield  Chase,  lost  both  his  life  and  crown.  After  two 
short  and  unfortunate  reigns,  Oswald  succeeded.  He 
was  a  prince  of  great  piety ;  and  bestowed  Lindisfarne 
on  S.  Aidan,  who  erected  a  monastery  on  it,  and  thus  gave 
it  its  present  name,  Holy  Island.  By  the  labours  of 
this  bishop,  Northumberland  was  thoroughly  evange- 
lized. King  Oswald  was,  for  a  season,  no  less  prospe- 


OF    MASER.  15 

rous  than  pious ;  but,  in  the  eighth  year  of  his  reign, 
Penda  marched  against  him.  The  armies  met  at  Maser, 
either  Oswestry  in  Shropshire,  or  Winwick  in  Lanca- 
shire. 


IT  is  the  morn  of  battle-day  ; 

the  Christian  hosts  confess  ; 
And  Prelates  stand,  with  lifted  hand, 

to  comfort  and  to  bless ; 
King  Oswald  heareth  hunting-mass,* 

for  fast  comes  on  the  foe  ; 
And  fearful  in  the  rising  sun 

the  Mercian  standards  glow; 
And  good  Birinus,f  numbered  since 

amongst  the  Blessed,  saith, 
"  God  speed  the  men  that  fight  to-day 

for  country  and  for  faith !" 


*  Hunting-mass  was  an  abbreviated  kind  of  Mass,  used  when  the 
urgency  of  war,  and,  alas  !  too  often  when  the  pleasures  of  the  chase, 
interfered  with  the  full  forms.  S.  Ethelred's  behaviour,  on  an  urgent 
occasion,  in  insisting  on  the  whole  office,  we  shall  presently  have 
occasion  to  notice. 

f  S.  Birinus  was  sent  into  Wessex  by  Pope  Honorius.  Having 
baptized  Cynegils,  he  was  placed  by  that  prince  in  the  city  of  Dor- 
chester, of  which  he  was  the  first  Bishop.  His  connexion  with  S.  Os- 
wald arose  from  the  latter  having  married  a  daughter  of  King  Cy- 
negils. 


16  THE  BATTLE 

The  Paynim  host  carouseth  high 

on  metheglin  and  ale ; 
Quoth  Penda  of  the  bloody  hand, 

"  Lords  Ealdormen,  waes  hail ! 
By  Thor,  for  whom  our  fathers  fought, 

there  lies  an  easy  prey, 
Unless  the  GOD  Whom  Christians  serve, 

defend  them  well  to-day." 
So  spake  the  fool,  and  praised  his  gods 

of  brass,  and  wood,  and  stone ; 
And  wilt  Thou  not,  O  LORD  of  Hosts, 

arise  and  save  Thine  Own  ? 

"  Lord  Prelate,"  quoth  King  Oswald  then, 

"  I  see  yon  sun  arise ; 
Who  nevermore,  I  know  it  well, 

shall  mark  it  mount  the  skies : 
GOD  guard  His  Church,  whatever  His  Will 

appointeth  unto  me ! 
He  shield  that  Woden's  shrine  should  stand 

where  now  His  temples  be !" 
King  Oswald's  cheek  is  ghastly  pale, 

and  yet  his  heart  beats  high ; 
"Preserve  my  people's  souls,  O  LORD! 

although  their  King  must  die !" 


OF   MASER.  17 

The  hosts  move  on  :  the  Christian  priests 

are  bending  on  the  knee ; 
To  Paynim  charms  and  hellish  rites 

the  Mercian  augurs  flee : 
*  King  Anna,*  with  East  Anglia, 

before  our  puissance  fell ; 
King  Edwin,  with  Northumbria, 

of  Penda's  deeds  can  tell : 
And  yet  right  well  they  served  their  GOD, 

and  gave  Him  gold  and  land ; 
And  who  are  these,  that  He  should  save 

King  Oswald  from  our  hand  ?' 

King  Penda  from  the  battle-field 

returns  in  proud  array ; 
King  Oswald's  corpse  they  mangle  sore, 

and  mock  the  senseless  clay : 
The  fierce  insulter  of  the  Faith 

in  pomp  and  glory  reigns ; 


*  This  is  an  anachronism,  Anna  was  not  overthrown  by  Penda 
till  twelve  years  afterwards.  Penda,  after  having  thus  vanquished 
three  excellent  monarchs,  Edwin,  S.  Oswald,  and  Anna  was  himself 
defeated  and  slain  by  Oswy,  King  of  Northumbria,  in  the  great  battle  of 
Winwidfield. 

B 


18  THE   BATTLE   OF    MASER. 

A  nameless  tomb,  and  hurried  ritesf 

the  Blessed  Martyr  gains. 
Fearful  and  terrible  Thy  works, 

Whose  glory  ne'er  decays ; 
Righteous  and  marvellous  to  men, 

O  KING  of  Saints,  Thy  ways ! 

f  S.  Oswald  fell  on  August  5 ;  and  that  day  was,  till  the  "Reforma- 
tion, celebrated  by  the  English  Church  in  his  memory. 


V. 

^Pilgrimage  of  &. 
Circ.  A.  D.  670. 


THE  family  of  Anna,  King  of  the  East  Anglians,  was 
emphatically  a  family  of  Saints.  He  himself,  as  we 
have  seen,  received  the  crown  of  Martyrdom,  infighting 
against  the  Pagans  :  his  eldest  child,  S.  Sexburga,  and 
her  daughter,  S.  Ermenilda,  and  her  grand- daughter,  S. 


S.    ETHELDREDA.  19 

Wereburga,  are  reckoned  among  the  Blessed.  His 
second  daughter  died  in  the  odour  of  sanctity:  and 
his  third,  S.  Etheldreda,  or  S.  Audrey,  was  one  of 
the  most  celebrated  Virgin  Confessors  of  England. 
Born  at  Exning,  her  father's  capital,  (now  reduced 
to  a  small  village,  its  market  having  been  in  time 
of  plague  removed  to  the  healthier  situation  thence 
deriving  the  name  of  Newmarket),  she  was  baptized  by 
S.  Paulinus,  Apostle  of  Northumbria,  in  a  spring,  which 
at  this  day  by  a  slight  corruption  is  called  S.  Mindred's 
Well.  She  early  made  a  vow  of  virginity,  which  was 
respected  by  her  successive  husbands,  Tondbert,  Ealdor- 
man  of  the  Girvii,  and  Egfrid,  King  of  Northumbria. 
Divorced  at  length  by  the  latter,  she  took  the  veil  at 
Coldingham,  and  retired  to  Ely,  where  she  founded  the 
celebrated  Abbey,  which  for  some  years  she  governed 
with  singular  prudence.  She  was  called  to  the  Church 
Triumphant,  Oct.  17,  680,  on  which  day  the  English 
Church  still  celebrates  her  name. 

HER  pilgrimage  is  rough  and  long, 

She  lays  her  down  to  sleep  : 
But  angel  guards,  a  bright-winged  throng, 

Their  vigils  o'er  her  keep : 
Her  pilgrim's  scrip  is  near  her  spread ; 
Her  oaken  staff  is  at  her  head : 
Yet  guards  of  such  immortal  sheen, 
Had  never  king  nor  prince,  I  ween. 


20  THE    PILGRIMAGE  OF 

Perchance  8he  dreameth  of  the  time, 
Her  father  filled  the  throne ; 

And  she  had  beauty's  pride  and  prime, 
And  royalty  her  own : 

Those  happy  hours  are  passed  away ; 

Her  step  is  weak,  her  hair  is  grey ; 

An  exile  now,  her  life  at  stake, 

And  all  for  Holy  Church's  sake. 


There  is  no  leaf  to  shade  her  head, 

No  breeze  to  fan  the  heat  ; 
The  fiercest  rays  that  noon  can  shed, 

Upon  the  pilgrim  beat : 
At  once  the  staff  in  earth  takes  root ; 
Rises  the  sap,  the  branches  shoot : 
And  breezes,  as  they  dance  that  way, 
Amidst  a  giant  chesnut  play. 


Scorn  ye  the  tale  our  fathers  told? 

Believe  its  moral  still ; 
GOD  never  left  His  Saints  of  old, 

And  us  He  never  will ! 


S.  ETHELDKEDA.  21 

Is  there  a  creature  that  we  feel 
Can  less  than  other  work  our  weal  ? 
The  barren  staff  becomes  a  tree,* 
And  blossometh  abundantly. 

*  This  is  a  favourite  subject  of  representation  in  stained  glass. 
The  most  perfect  legend  of  Saint  Etheldreda  in  this  material  with  which 
I  am  acquainted,  occurs  in  Eaton  Socon  Church,  Bedfordshire. 


VI. 

Umrable  ISrtrc. 
(A.  D.  735.) 


THE  history  of  this  eminent  Saint  and  Doctor  of  our 
Church  is  well  known.  He  departed  to  his  reward,  on 
May  27,  735,  being  Ascension-eve,  after  completing  the 
dictation  of  a  translation  of  S.  John's  Gospel.  One  of  his 
disciples,  to  whom  the  charge  of  his  epitaph  was  en- 
trusted, had  written,  Hac  sunt  in  fossa  Bedce  ossa; 


22  VENERABLE  BEDE. 

and  unable  to  think  of  a  proper  epithet,  fell  asleep.  On 
awaking,  he  found  that  the  word  Venerabilis  had  been 
supernaturally  inserted. 


His  voice  grows  weak,  his  hand  grows  faint ; 
Yet  still  he  toils,  the  dying  Saint, 
That  Saxons  in  their  tongue  may  quote, 
The  words  the  loved  Apostle  wrote; 
His  eyes  grow  dim  and  fixed  in  death, 
And  with  the  volume  ends  his  breath. 

Ascension-eve !  the  May-dews  bright 
Were  glittering  on  the  brow  of  night ; 
In  Jarrow  church  the  vespers  closed, 
Just  as  the  toil-worn  monk  reposed  ; 
Meet  time,  in  twilight's  calm  decay, 
For  soul  like  his  to  soar  away ! 

The  law  that  guides  each  sphere  he  knew, 
Earth  gave  her  treasures  to  his  view ; 
His  precious  things  the  sea  reveal'd, 
The  clouds  their  treasure-house  unseal'd ; 
Yet  never  humbler  spirit  sought 
His  Judgment-seat,  Who  sinners  bought ! 


VENERABLE    BEDE.  23 

Where  Durham's  rock-built  turrets  rise, 
Beneath  a  lowly  stone  he  lies ; 
A  lowly  stone,  whereon  the  Cross, 
Is  sculptur'd  that  redeem'd  our  loss ; 
His  learning-knights  inscribe  his  name  ;* 
How  shall  they  character  his  fame  ? 

Deep  midnight  slept  upon  the  pile ; 
An  angel  came,  with  heavenly  smile, 
Tracing,  in  characters  of  light, 
The  word  they  knew  not  how  to  write ; 
And  future  years  the  line  shall  read, 
That  tells  of  VENERABLE  BEDE  ! 


*  The  simplicity  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  language  has  no  word  for  disci- 
ples.   The  compound  "  learning-knight"  is  therefore  employed. 


24  THE  MARTYRDOM 


VII. 

&i)e  J&artgrtfom  of  S.  CEtrmuntr. 
A.D.  870. 

EDMUND,  King  of  East  Anglia,  was  more  directly  a 
martyr  than  any  other  sovereign  of  England.  Having 
been  defeated  and  made  prisoner  by  the  Danes,  he  was 
commanded  to  apostatize.  Refusing,  he  was  tied  to  a 
tree,  and  shot  to  death  with  arrows.  He  was  called  to 
the  heavenly  crown  on  the  20th  of  November,  on  which 
day  the  English  Church  celebrates  his  memory. 

Wouldst  thou  be  one  of  this  world's  far  renown'd  ? 
Not  many  great,  are  call'd,  not  many  wise ; 
Yet  some  be  found, 

Whose  humble  footsteps  may  ascend  the  skies, 
And  GOD  hath  martyrs  even  amidst  earth's  crown'd. 

As  from  their  golden  throne  the  Pleiades 

Beam  peace,  and  joy,  and  hope  o'er  them  that  sail 

On  midnight  seas, 

So  that  great  Heptarchy  of  saints  we  hail,* 
That  shine  amidst  a  heaven  more  fair  than  these. 


*  SS.  Oswald,  Ethelred,  Edward,  C.  Edward,  M. Edmund,  Alkmund, 
Charles.  By  a  singular  mistake,  an  author,  to  whom  the  English  Church 


OF  S.  EDMUND.  25 

Monarchs,  that  left  the  purple  and  the  throne, 
When  to  the  Martyr's  nobler  diadem 

GOD  called  His  Own : 
Each  life-drop  of  their  agony  a  gem 
Brighter  than  e'er  in  earthly  sceptre  shone  : 

Each  fought  a  different  fight,  but  all  fought  well ; 
Each  ran  a  different  race,  but  all  were  crown'd : 

One  heavenly  spell 

The  champion-chiefs  of  different  ages  bound : 
And,  Holy  Mother  Church  !  for  thee  aU  feU ! 

Rest  in  thy  glory !  midst  thy  brethren  rest, 
O  holy  prince,  of  all  that  martyr-train 

Brightest  and  best : 

And  change  the  scorn  and  torments  of  the  Dane 
For  the  deep  peace  and  hymnings  of  the  blest ; 

Though  evil  hands  thy  gorgeous  shrine  have  rent, 
Though  evil  hearts  have  wrought  thy  abbey's  fall, 

Not  vainly  spent 

Was  the  brave  life  that  would  not  be  in  thrall, 
But  reared  the  Faith  so  firm  a  monument ; 

is  deeply  indebted,  speaks  of  the  last  of  these  as  the  only  man  who  ever 
joined  the  titles  of  a  King  and  Martyr.  Many  in  other  countries  might 
be  added,  e.  §.  S.  Olave. 


26  MARTYRDOM    OF   S.   EDMUND. 

And  even  as  yet,  in  these  our  evil  days, 
The  village  church  in  carved  oak  embalms* 

Thy  name  and  praise  : 

Filling  thy  right  hand  with  the  victor's  palms, 
Circling  thy  head  with  Saints'  triumphant  rays ! 


f  The  Abbey  of  S.  Edmund's  Bury,  of  which  now  scarcely  a  vestige 
remains,  was  the  richest  in  England.  The  little  church  of  Green- 
sted,  Essex,  the  nave  of  which  is  rudely  formed  of  chesnut  trees, 
placed  together  stockade  wise,  is  supposed  to  have  been  erected  in  1009, 
as  a  temporary  resting-place  for  the  body  of  the  martyr,  on  its  way  from 
London,  where  it  had  been  removed  for  safety  in  another  eruption  of 
the  Danes,  to  Bury. 

*  S.  Edmund  frequently  occurs  represented  on  the  pannelling  of  rood 
screens,  especially,  perhaps,  in  the  east  of  England. 


VIII. 


battle  of 


S.  ETHELRED,  the  elder  brother  of  Alfred,  was  attacked 
in  the  same  invasion  of  the  Danes,  wherein  S.  Edmund 
suffered.  A  few  days  after  the  battle  of  Essendune,  he 
received  the  Crown  of  Martyrdom,  in  fighting  against 
the  pagans.  He  was  buried  in  Wimborne  Minster, 


BATTLE  OF  ESSEN  DUNE.  2*7 

where  a  small  brass  is  to  be  seen  bearing  his  effigy.     It 
is  of  the  early  part  of  the  17th  century. 

*  Go,  call  the  priests,  and  bid  the  thanes, 

and  let  the  Mass  be  said; 
And  then  we  meet  the  Paynim  Danes,' 

quoth  good  King  Ethelred. 
f  I  see  their  Raven  on  the  hill ; 

I  know  his  fury  well ; 
Needeth  the  more  we  put  our  trust 

in  Him  That  harrowed  hell.' 

Then  out  and  spake  young  Alfred ; 

*  My  liege,  this  scarce  may  be  ; 
Our  troops  must  out  with  battle  shout, 

and  that  right  instantly.' 
Made  answer  good  King  Ethelred ; 

1  To  GOD  I  look  for  aid; j 
HE  shield  a  Christian  king  should  fight, 

before  his  host  have  prayed ! ' 

The  Priests  are  at  the  Altar  now, 

the  king  and  nobles  kneel ; 
The  Sacrifice  is  offered  up 

for  soul  and  body's  weal; 


28  BATTLE   OF 

And  nearer  now,  and  nearer  still 

the  Danish  trumpets  bray ; 
Northumbrian  wolves  came  never  on 

as  they  came  on  that  day. 

Four  bow-shots  are  they  from  the  host, 

the  Saxon  is  aware ; 
Yet  not  a  knee  in  England's  ranks 

but  bendeth  yet  in  prayer  : 
The  five  stout  Jarls  look'd  each  on  each, 

and  one  to  other  spake ; 
«  By  Woden,  but  these  Christian  fools 

an  easy  prey  will  make !' 

Young  Alfred  holds  no  longer ; 

1  Let  priests  and  women  pray  ; 
But  out  to  battle,  lords  and  thanes, 

or  else  we  lose  the  day !' 
Half  with  Prince  Alfred  grasp  their  arms, 

and  battle  on  the  plain, 
And  half  with  godly  Ethelred 

at  holy  Mass  remain. 

Prince  Alfred's  men  are  on  the  hill ; 
their  shields  are  o'er  their  head ; 


ESSENDUNE.  29 


The  Raven  flies  triumphant  midst 

the  dying  and  the  dead : 
Frean  and  the  Sidrocs  thunder  here, 

there  Harold's  bloody  crew ; 
And  for  each  man  the  Northmen  miss, 

the  Saxon  loseth  two ! 


The  Mass  is  said,  the  King  is  up : 

'  Now,  worthy  liegemen,  shew 
That  they  who  go  from  prayer  to  fight 

can  fear  no  mortal  foe !' 
And  on  with  sword  and  battle-axe 

the  Wessex  column  roll'd : 
Both  thane,  and  ceorl,  and  earldorman,* 

and  heretoch  and  hold. 

Then  waxed  the  combat  fierce  and  sharp  : 

yet  ere  the  sun  went  down, 
The  Raven  spread  his  wings  for  flight 

as  far  as  Reading  town  : 


*  Ceorl,  retained  in  our  own  language,  under  the  form  churl.  Heretoch 
and  hold  were  the  names  of  officers  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  armies. 
Their  functions  are  not  accurately  known. 


30  s.  EADBUKGA'S 

And  on  the  morrow,  when  they  came 
the  foemen's  dead  to  count, 

Five  mighty  Jarls  and  one  great  King 
were  writ  in  that  amount. 

In  English  song  the  king  live  long, 

that  won  a  field  by  prayer ; 
The  bloody  day  of  Essendune 

long  live  recorded  there ! 
Short  life  was  godly  Ethelred's ; 

short  life,  but  long  renown : 
And  for  the  Royal  Diadem 

he  hath  the  Martyr's  Crown ! 


IX. 

S.  3£atrtmrga' 

A.D.  924. 

THE  following  legend  is  related  of  the  Princess  Ead- 
burga,  daughter  to  King  Edward,  and  grand-daughter 
to  Alfred.  She  took  the  veil  at  Winchester,  under  her 
grandmother,  Aleswitha,  widow  of  the  latter  king, 


CHOICE.  31 

where  she  led  a  long  and  holy  life.  S.  Eadburga  was 
held  in  singular  veneration  in  the  Mitred  Abbey  of 
Evesham,  where  a  chapel  bore  her  name.  She  departed 
to  glory  December  13. 

KING  Edward  rose  from  matins, 

And  Eadburga  smil'd 
As  through  the  royal  chamber 

He  led  his  fair-hair'd  child ; 
The  chamber,  where  the  treasures 

Of  ancient  monarchs  lay  ; 
The  people's  willing  tribute, 

The  foeman's  ravished  prey. 

And  there  was  many  a  casket, 

Right  glorious  to  behold ; 
And  there  was  many  a  goblet 

Carved  out  in  solid  gold  ; 
And  many  a  gaud  of  silver, 

And  many  a  princely  vest, 
And  many  an  Eastern  jewel* 

That  maiden  loveth  best. 


*  King  Alfred,  we  are  told,  had  sent  an  embassy  to  the  Christians  of 
Meliapour ;  and  from  them  he  received  a  large  present  of  eastern  spices 
and  jewels. 


32  s.  EADBURGA'S  CHOICE. 

But  passing  these,  a  chalice 

The  little  princess  eyed, 
And,  writ  in  golden  letters, 

A  parchment  by  its  side ; 
And  out  spake  good  King  Edward, 

*  Now  GOD  be  blessed  for  this ! 
My  daughter,  thou,  like  Mary, 

Hast  made  the  choice  of  bliss !' 

They  fought  for  merry  England, 

The  Saxon  and  the  Dane, 
Beneath  the  royal  banners 

Of  Edmund  and  of  Sweyn : 
But  war  can  ne'er  affright  her, 

But  foes  can  ne'er  assail ; 
For  fair-hair'd  Eadburga 

Hath  ta'en  the  holy  veil ! 


THE  MARTYRDOM  33 


X. 

JHartgrtfom  of  S. 


A.D.  1009. 

S.  ELPHEGE,  or  Alphegus,  was  translated  from  Win- 
chester to  Canterbury  by  King  Ethelred.  The  Danes, 
under  Thurchil,  having  taken  that  city  by  assault,  bound 
the  Archbishop,  and  compelled  him  to  witness  the  con- 
flagration of  his  cathedral,  and  the  massacre  of  those 
who  had  taken  refuge  in  it.  After  this,  they  detained 
him  in  captivity  for  several  weeks,  hoping  to  obtain  a 
ransom  for  him.  But  he,  constantly  refusing  to  solicit 
his  friends  for  the  sum  they  required,  which  was  three 
thousand  pounds,  received  the  crown  of  martyrdom  on 
the  Saturday  after  Easter,  1009,  being  the  19th  of  April, 
which  day  has  been  ever  since  set  apart  by  the  Church 
to  his  memory. 


PAYJSIM  strains  are  swelling  high 
Midst  the  Danish  revelry ; 
Paynim  flames  are  spreading  wide 
Hound  the  Minster's  holy  side  ; 
High  they  eddy,  fierce  they  pour 
In  at  window,  roof,  and  door  j 
c 


34  THE   MARTYRDOM    OF 

Scarce  escaped  the  Danish  steel, 
Suppliants  at  the  Altar  kneel ; 
"  Out !    the  foe's  revenge  to  court : 
Death  is  bitter,  be  it  short !" 


Ready  for  the  Faith  to  die, 
Holy  Elphege  standeth  nigh ; 
For  himself  he  knows  no  fear, 
For  his  flock  he  sheds  a  tear ; 
As  he  sees  them  sally  out, 
As  he  hears  the  Danish  shout ; 
Each  commending,  as  they  fall, 
To  the  GOD  and  LORD  of  all : 
Looking  past  the  death-stain'd  brands 
To  a  House  not  made  with  hands. 


Wearily  the  seasons  glide  ; 
Draweth  nigh  the  Easter  tide  : 
How,  a  prisoner,  may  he  share 
Holy  Church's  praise  and  prayer  ? 
In  his  dungeon  can  he  be 
Fellow  with  the  glad  and  free  ? 


S.   ELPHEGE.  35 


Yea,  his  mighty  LORD  ordain'd, 
As  He  suffer'd  ere  He  reigned, 
So  His  servant  now  should  rise, 
By  his  passion,  to  the  skies. 


Still  he  teaches,  still  he  prays,* 
Still  he  leads  to  wisdom's  ways ; 
Prelate  with  his  latest  breath ; 
GOD'S  True  Martyr  in  his  death :  f 
Choose  the  noblest  stage  ye  may, 
Deck  the  scene  !  proclaim  the  day  I 
As  the  stony  shower  ye  pourf 
On  the  more  than  conqueror, 
Angels  stand  to  bear  him  straight 
Home  to  Heav'n's  eternal  gate ! 


*  It  is  said  that  the  period  of  his  captivity  was  passed  by  S.  Elphege 
in  labouring  for  the  conversion  of  his  captors. 

t  True  Martyr.  "  Ye  Bee,"  said  S.  Thomas  of  Canterbury,  as  he  went 
to  his  passion,  "ye  see  the  shrine  of  the  Prelate  and  truly  Martyr, 
Elphege;  and  in  short  space  shall  another  Archbishop  have  attained 
unto  the  self-same  crown." 

$  S.  Elphege  was  stoned  at  Greenwich,  on  the  spot  where  the  old  pa- 
rish church,  dedicated  in  his  honour,  now  stands.  Archbishop  Lan- 
franc,  who,  notwithstanding,  his  piety,  was  probably  not  free  from  Nor- 
man prejudices,  had  some  scruples  as  to  allowing  the  title  of  Martyr  to 
S.  Elphege.  He  was  at  length  convinced  of  its  justness  by  S.  Anselm. 


36  LEGEND   OF 

XI. 

TO*  XegenU  of  S. 


THE  following  legend  is  related  of  the  same  S.  Aidan 
who  is  referred  to  in  the  introduction  to  the  fourth 
ballad  :— 

THEY  waken  the  morning  with  clamour  and  shout ; 
The  horns  sound  reveille,  the  yeomen  are  out ; 
And  the  knight  and  his  followers,  o'er  forest  and  fen, 
Press  hard  on  the  trail  of  the  good  stag  often. 

Comes  forth  from  his  cell  holy  Aidan  at  Nones  ; 
His  own  hand  had  raised  it  of  moss-covered  stones : 
And  a  runnel  of  water  went  murmuring  by, 
And  a  wood  was  his  covert  when  tempests  were  high : 

And  peasants  would  say  that,  overtaken  by  night, 
They  had  seen  him  conversing  with  spirits  of  light : 
Bright  Angels  beside  him  at  Nocturns  there  stood, 
And  voices  celestial  were  heard  through  the  wood. 


S.   AIDAN.  37 

But  now,  by  the  bugle-notes,  clear  and  more  clear, 
Holy  Aidan  knew  well  that  the  hunters  drew  near; 
And  the  stag,  worn  with  labour,  and  weary  with  heat, 
Crept  close  to  the  Saint,  and  crouch'd  down  at  his  feet. 

Then  up  came  the  hounds,  and  the  huntsmen  came  next, 
But  the  dogs  were  at  fault,  and  the  yeomen  perplexed  : 
They  grop'd  as  in  darkness  to  compass  the  prey, 
That  safe  in  the  midst  of  his  enemies  lay. 

Saint  Aidan  look'd  on  him  with  pitiful  eye, 
Till  the  hunt  had  swept  past,  and  the  danger  gone  by : 
And  where  should  the  weak  go,  when  harassed  by  foes, 
Except  to  the  feet  of  the  Priest,  for  repose  ? 


XII. 
Battle  of 

1066. 


WE  are  so  much  accustomed  to  look  on  the  Conqueror's 
attempt  as  an  invasion  arising  solely  from  his  insatiable 
ambition,  and  are  so  well  aware  of  the  miseries  which  his 


38  THE   BATTLE 

success  caused,  for  several  centuries,  to  England,  that 
we  miss  the  point  of  view  in  which  contemporaries  be- 
held it.  To  them  it  appeared  a  special  interposition  of 
Providence  to  punish  a  foul  perjury.  The  landing  of 
William,  apparently  impossible  from  the  superiority  of 
the  Saxon  fleet,  the  character  of  the  troops,  whom, 
flushed  with  his  Norwegian  conquest,  Harold  led  into 
Sussex,  his  superiority  in  arms  and  numbers,  his  own  re- 
markable fate,  all  lead  to  this  conclusion.  It  was  neces- 
sary to  premise  thus  much,  to  justify  the  spirit  of  the 
following  ballad. 


"  O  go  not  forth,  my  liege,  to  day ! 

let  Leofwin  lead  the  van,* 
For  GOD  is  just,  Lord  Harold, 

to  judge  the  perjured  man : 
Think  on  the  relics  of  the  Saints  f 

o'er  whom  thy  oath  was  sworn : 
And  dread  their  vengeance,  if  thyself 

conduct  the  host  at  morn !" 


*  Leofwin  and  Gurth  were  the  brothers  of  Harold.  They  requested 
him  to  allow  them  to  lead  the  army,  since  the  guilt  of  perjury  could  not 
attach  to  them .  They  were  both  slain  in  the  battle. 

t  William  of  Normandy  is  said  to  have  made  Harold  swear  fealty  to 
him  over  a  chest,  of  the  contents  of  which  the  latter  was  ignorant. 
They  proved  to  be  the  relics  of  the  most  famous  saints,  collected  from 
the  various  churches  of  his  duchy. 


OF  HASTINGS.  39 

King  Harold  laughs  the  rede  to  scorn  : 

"  And  by  my  fay,"  quoth  he, 
"  The  Bastard  would  deserve  a  land 

from  whence  the  king  could  flee ! 
Norweyan  Jarls,  at  Stamford  Bridge,  * 

another  welcome  found, 
When,  for  the  realm  they  came  to  win, 

they  found  six  feet  of  ground." 

In  dance,  and  feast,  and  revelry, 

the  Saxons  pass  the  night ; 
The  Normans  cry  to  GOD  on  High 

to  aid  them  in  the  fight : 
And  either  host,  on  chosen  post, 

was  set  in  meet  array, 
All  as  it  drew  to  hour  of  tierce, 

on  Saint  Calixtus'  day.  t 

Burgundian  archers  hold  the  van, 

then  Anjou's  heavy  mail, 
And  last  the  Norman  men-at-arms, 

when  archery  shall  fail : 

*  The  battle  of  Stamford  Bridge  was  fought  fifteen  days  before  that  of 
Hastings.  The  Norwegians  received  in  it  a  signal  defeat. 

t  "  Martyris  in  Christi  Festo  cecidere  Calisti,"  said  the  inscription 
commemorating  the  event  in  Battle  Abbey. 


40  THE   BATTLE 

In  Tristan's  hands  the  banner  stands, 
all  blessed  beyond  the  seas  : 

Shine  in  the  front  of  battle  brunt 
Saint  Peter's  golden  keys. 


The  Saxons  spread  an  iron  line 

before  their  crescent  wood : 
Then  rose  the  war-cries,  "  GOD  with  us ! " 

"CHRIST'S  Rood,  the  Holy  Rood!" 
Fell  fast  the  Norman  arrow-sleet, 

and  right  and  left  ye  view, 
The  volunteers  of  Burgundy, 

and  spearmen  of  Anjou. 


The  men  of  Picardy  fall  back  : 

Duke  "William  gives  the  sign ; 
And  like  a  thunderbolt,  his  knights 

are  on  King  Harold's  line : 
The  knights  go  down,  the  line  stands  firm, 

sword  shivers,  corslet  cracks, 
And  men-at-arms  scarce  curse  in  death 

the  Saxon  battle-axe. 


OF  HASTINGS.  41 

The  Bastard  rides  along  his  lines, 

for  rumour  held  him  slain : 
"  Here,  by  GOD'S  Grace,  I  am,"  quoth  he, 

and  by  His  Grace  will  reign ;" 
Forthwith  upon  the  foe  again 

rolls  on  the  Norman  shock, 
Dash'd,  in  the  very  charge,  away, 

like  foam  upon  a  rock. 

Knight  after  knight,  and  man  on  man, 

swell  up  war's  sad  amount ; 
Soul  after  soul,  the  live-long  day, 

gives  in  the  last  account : 
Till  at  the  time  the  sun  went  down, 

and  night  was  on  the  sea, 
There  went  a  rumour  through  the  host, 

"  King  Harold,  where  is  he  ?" 

Thou,  as  thou  stand'st  in  Waltham  Nave,* 

think  gently  of  the  dead  : 
The  fault  was  heavy,  so  the  doom  ; 

oath  broken,  life-blood  shed ; 


*  Waltham  Abbey  was  founded  by  Harold :  he  was  probably  buried 
there.  The  only  legend  to  his  sepulchre  is  said  to  have  been  '  Harold 
Infelix: 


42  THE  BATTLE   OF   HASTINGS. 

Prejudge  not  Him  That  in  His  Love 

full  often  striketh  here, 
That  so  the  soul,  in  Day  of  Doom, 

With  glory  may  appear. 


XIII. 
JBartgrtrom  of 


A.D.  1076. 

WALTHEOFF,  one  of  the  last  Saxon  patriots,  was,  on  in- 
formation received  through  his  perfidious  Norman  wife, 
Judith,  and  through  the  jealousy  of  the  Conqueror,  con- 
demned to  die  as  a  traitor.  He  was  executed  on  a  hill 
near  Winchester,  at  an  early  hour  of  the  morning,  lest  a 
rescue  should  be  attempted. 

AYE  !  summon,  proud  Bastard,  thy  Normandy's  crew, 
Or  call  the  battalions  of  distant  Anjou ; 
But  deem  not  the  Saxon,  tho'  crushed   he  may  be, 
So  lost  as  to  play  the  assassin  for  thee  ! 


THE  MARTYRDOM  OF  WALTHEOFF.       43 

The  Saints  of  old  times,  in  unearthly  array, 
Look  down  from  the  Homes  of  the  Blessed  to-day : 
How  shall  not  the  Martyr  encourage  his  soul,  * 
With  these  for  spectators,  and  Heav'n  for  his  goal  ? 

The  passage  is  rough  to  the  Kingdom  of  Bliss  ; 
But  others  have  tried  it  when  rougher  than  this ; 
There  are  Angels  to  cheer  thee,  though  tyrants  may  mock ; 
And  GOD  crowns  the  head  that  hath  stooped  to  the  block. 

Play  the  man !  that  thy  country  may  joy  to  behold ! 
Play  the  man  for  her  Church,  and  the  poor  of  its  fold ! 
That  the  deed  of  the  moment  that  endeththy  strife, 
May  be  greater  than  those  thou  hast  done  in  thy  life  ! 

With  thee — for  they  hasten  thee  on  to  thy  crown — 

The  sun  that  now  riseth  shall  never  go  down : 

The  tyrant  lies  yet  on  the  couch  of  his  state  ; 

They  call  thee  the  wretched — they  deem  him  the  great : 

And  let  it  be  so !  for  the  day  is  at  hand 
When  ye  both  at  a  mightier  tribunal  must  stand ; 
And  Heaven  the  judgment  of  earth  shall  reverse, 
And  thou  have  the  blessing,  and  he  have  the  curse ! 

*  It  is  proper  to  observe  that  Waltheoff,  though  accounted  by  his 
countrymen  Martyr,  and  reverenced  as  such,  has  never  been  formally 
enrolled  among1  the  Saints. 


44  THE  DEFENCE   OF 

XIV. 

&f)e  defence  of  S. 


Circ.  1070. 

SAINT  Wulfstan  was  made  Bishop  of  Worcester  by  S. 
Edward  the  Confessor  :  he  rebuilt  great  part  of  his  ca- 
thedral, and  is  buried  in  the  Presbytery,  where  his  mo- 
nument is  in  a  shameful  state  of  neglect.  After  the  oc- 
currence described  in  the  following  ballad,  he  was  per- 
mitted to  retain  his  see. 

SAINT  Wulfstan  stands  at  Westminster, 

before  the  Bastard's  throne ; 
The  tyrant  will  have  Worcester 

for  a  minion  of  his  own : 
So  accusations,  false  as  hell, 

upon  his  head  they  lay, 
And  men  of  Belial  stand  to  swear 

his  name  and  fame  away. 

Then^out  and  spake  King  William : 

"  Now  lay  the  Mitre  down  ; 
By  good  Saint  Luke,  'twere  rashly  done 

to  match  it  with  the  Crown. 


S.   WULFSTAN.  45 

The  Bishop's  crook  may  serve  his  turn 

to  rule  his  silly  sheep, 
But  to  clash  it  with  the  sceptre 

will  make  the  Bishop  weep." 


Then  out  and  spake  Saint  Wulfstan  : 

"  GOD  aid  me  in  my  need ! 
The  Helper  of  the  helpless 

my  righteous  judgment  plead ! 
From  good  Saint  Edward  I  received 

the  staff  that  is  thine  aim ; 
To  Saint  Edward  I  will  therefore 

again  restore  the  same. 


At  the  Confessor's  shrine  he  stands : 

"  O  Holy  King,  to  thee 
I  yield  the  staff  thou  gav'st  me  once, 

and  now  they  seek  from  me. 
Lo  !  there  it  lieth,  lordlings, 

ye  may  take  it  from  the  spot : 
Saint  Edward,  if  him  list,  shall  yield 

the  thing  that  I  will  not." 


S.  WULFSTAN. 

He  struck  his  staff  upon  the  shrine : 

it  rooted  in  the  stone ; 
And  not  a  hand  in  all  that  band 

can  bear  it  off  alone. 
Then  knights  and  thanes  together 

try  all  with  might  and  main ; 
But  only  he  that  set  it  there 

can  pluck  it  forth  again. 

Thus  GOD  made  clear  His  servant's  cause, 

and  did  the  helpless  right, 
Confounding  those  his  enemies, 

and  vanquishing  their  spite. 
— As  ill  fall  those  would  late  have  made 

old  Sodor's  glory  bow, 
As  ill  fall  those  would  do  the  same 

to  holy  Bangor  now  ! 


THE  CONQUEROR'S  47 


XV. 


SEPT.  9,  1087. 

THE  homeliness  of  the  following  ballad  arises  from  its 
being  little  more  than  a  versified  imitation  of  the  Saxon 
Chronicle,  the  author  of  which  must  have  been  well  able 
to  give  a  character  of  King  William,  for,  says  he,  "  I 
sometime  lived  in  his  herd." 

IT  was  a  time  of  anguish, 

a  time  of  wailing  sore,  — 
A  time  of  tribulation, 

such  as  had  not  been  before  ; 
King  William  sat  upon  the  throne, 

and  many  widows  wept; 
And  the  crown  he  won  by  strength  of  arm, 

by  strength  of  arm  he  kept. 

Castles  he  builded  great  and  high, 

digg'd  dungeons  deep  and  dark  ; 
Did  mickle  wrong  to  weak  and  strong, 

"  he  was  so  very  stark  ;" 


48  DEATH. 

Took  gold  and  silver  as  him  list, 
made  rich  grow  poor  with  speed ; 

Slew  some  of  right,  and  some  by  might, 
and  all  for  little  need. 


The  noble's  arm  sans  curse  or  harm 

struck  them  of  human  kind; 
But  whoso  touch'd  the  fallow  roe, 

him  justicers  must  blind : 
So  much  he  loved  the  high-deer 

as  they  had  been  his  kin : 
But  man  might  slay  his  neighbour, 

and  count  it  little  sin. 


His  pleasure  was  in  hunting : 

he  loved  it  ear'  and  late : 
Forests  he  had  sans  number, 

and  threescore  parks  and  eight : 
Yet  as  if  all  were  naught  or  small, 

both  priests  and  poor  he  chas'd ; 
And  thirty  hamlets  for  his  deer 

he  burnt  and  laid  them  waste. 


THE  CONQUEROR'S  DEATH.  49 

Then  was  there  mickle  suffering ; 

and  men  might  threat  or  pray, 
But  he  was  stark  beyond  all  bounds, 

and  needs  must  have  his  way. 
And  twenty  years  both  churls  and  peers 

he  mightily  oppressed, 
Till  it  was  GOD'S  good  pleasure 

that  England  should  have  rest. 

Prelates  are  standing  by  his  bed ; 

they  bid  him  think  of  Heav'n ; 
They  bid  him  pardon  others, 

as  he  would  be  forgiven : 
While  there  was  hope  he  would  not  hear, 

but  death  came  on  apace ; 
And  then  the  unforgiving  king 

received  them  to  his  grace. 

"  What  is  that  bell  I  hear  afar, 

this  early  morn  ?"  quoth  he  : 
They  told  him  that  it  toll'd  for  Prime 

in  the  church  of  Saint  Marie ; 
"  Then  to  our  Lady  in  my  need 

my  spirit  I  commend ; 
And  let  the  Ever  Virgin 

in  the  Judgment  stand  my  friend !" 

D 


50  THE  CONQUEROR'S 

How  shall  the  Purest  of  the  pure 

defend  the  vile  of  heart  ? 
How  can  the  Mildest  of  the  mild 

uphold  the  murderer's  part? 
Who  putteth  off  all  thoughts  of  grace 

until  his  dying  day, 
He  buildeth  up  a  mansion 

upon  a  bed  of  clay. 

Then  knights  and  barons  called  to  horse ; 

then  priests  and  prelates  fled ; 
Then  servants  plundered  bower  and  hall, 

and  with  the  booty  sped : 
And  three  long  hours  the  monarch  lay, 

disgraced  by  common  crew  ; 
For  he  shall  have  no  mercy 

that  mercy  never  knew. 

Then  out  and  spake  Sir  Herluin, 

a  Norman  knight  was  he  : 
"  The  burial  e'en  of  wicked  men 

is  counted  charity : 
The  King  lies  all  deserted  here, 

but  I  will  have  him  hence, 
Sith  he  hath  none  to  tend  his  corpse, 

all  atxmine  own  expense." 


DEATH.  51 

So  they  brought  him  to  Saint  Etienne,* 

the  church  himself  had  built, 
And  they  spake  about  his  conquests, 

and  kept  silence  o'er  his  guilt : 
The  Mass  is  sung — the  sermon  said, 

the  corpse  upon  the  bier ; 
Then  out  and  spake  a  citizen  : 

"  In  GOD'S  Name,  nobles,  hear ! 

"  The  very  land  whereon  ye  stand 

was  mine  by  law  and  right : 
King  William  cast  an  eye  thereon, 

and  made  it  his  by  might ; 
As  ye  would  dread,  with  wicked  hands, 

a  temple  to  disgrace, 
Make  not  GOD'S  House,  the  House  of  Prayer, 

a  robber's  burying-place." 

So  died  the  man  that  never  thought 

of  mercy  in  his  life : 
In  turmoil  all  his  days  were  spent — 

his  burial  was  in  strife : 
He  that  laid  hands  on  Holy  Church, 

and  took  Her  goods  by  force, 
Is  spoiled  himself  in  hour  of  death 

by  men  without  remorse. 

*  S.  Etienne,  at  Caen,  now  called  the  Abbaye  aux  Hommes,  is  one  of 
the  most  perfect  specimens  existing-  of  the  severest  Norman. 


52  THE  LAST   HUNT 


XVI. 

1|unt  of  SaUliam  Bttfus. 


(Aug.  1st  or  2nd,  1100.) 

THE  character  of  William  Rufus  was  looked  on  by  his 
contemporaries  with  a  mixture  of  awe  and  hatred  His 
extortion,  his  cruelty,  his  licentiousness,  his  oppressions, 
were  shared  by  him  in  common  with  other  monarchs  ; 
but  in  his  open  defiance  of  GOD  He  stood  alone.  "  By 
the  holy  face  of  Lucca,"  he  said,  "  God  shall  never  be- 
hold me  a  good  man,  for  the  ill  He  hath  brought  upon 
me."  Before  his  death,  prophecies  and  portents  were 
circulated  respecting  that  event;  and  to  this  day  its 
manner  remains  a  mystery.  Sir  Walter  Tyrrel  made 
oath,  when  influenced  by  no  possible  motive  of  fear,  in 
the  reign  of  his  successor,  that  he  had  not  been  near  the 
king  on  the  morning  of  his  death.  The  spot  is  marked 
by  a  stone,  now  cased  in  iron,  lying  in  a  glade,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  right  of  a  lone  inn,  on  the  South- 
ampton and  Ringwood  road. 

KING  William  reign'  d  in  England  ; 

A  bold  bad  king  was  he  : 
He  looked  with  grace  on  the  ill  man's  fac  e, 

And  he  bade  the  good  man  flee. 


OF  WILLIAM   RUFUS.  53 

His  servants,  at  his  word,  made  search 

For  the  silver  and  the  gold 
Her  sons  had  given  to  Holy  Church, 

In  the  pious  days  of  old ; 

There  was  never  a  night  but  he  lay  down  * 

A  worse  man  than  he  rose ; 
And  never  a  morning  but  up  he  sprung 

Worse  than  at  evening's  close ; 

Yet  seldom  prince,  before  or  since, 

Had  wealth  and  power  as  he ; 
The  words  he  said,  the  schemes  he  laid, 

Prosper'd  exceedingly : 

He  put  his  trust  in  things  of  dust, 

And  sought  for  fear,  not  love ; 
And  he  said,  as  he  followed  his  own  heart's  lust, 

"  There  is  no  Gou  above  !" 

He  treasur'd  up,  by  deeds  of  wrong, 

A  fearful  reckoning  day ; 
For  mercy,  though  it  tarrieth  long, 

It  will  not  bide  alway. 

*  These  are  the  exact  words  of  the  contemporary  annalist. 


54  THE   LAST   HUNT 

In  that  same  forest,  which  of  old 

His  father's  lust  had  made, 
When  church  and  cot  he  spar'd  them  not, 

But  both  in  ruins  laid ; 
In  that  same  forest,  by  the  son, 

Shall  vengeance'  debt  be  paid. 

He  rose  at  light  from  a  reveller's  night, 

And  Mass  he  would  not  hear : 
They  told  him  portent  to  affright ;  * 

He  laugh'd  to  scorn  their  fear  : 

A  deer  sprung  out  at  his  very  feet, 
And  he  thought  to  pierce  it  soon : 

And  he  spurred  thro'  the  heat  on  his  steed  so  fleet, 
But  the  chace  held  on  till  noon  : 

And  not  till  then,  in  a  shady  glen, 

The  good  stag  stood  at  bay : 
— What  follow'd  next,  alone  of  men 

Can  Walter  Tyrrell  say. 

*  One  of  his  servants  was  forewarned,  in  a  dream,  on  the  preceding 
night,  by  an  old  man  who  appeared  in  the  form  of  a  Bishop,  that  his 
lord's  end  was  approaching.  The  sleep  of  the  King  himself  was  dis- 
turbed, and  he  only  dispelled  his  presentiments  by  indulging  largely  in 
the  pleasures  of  the  feast. 


OF  WILLIAM   KUFUS.  55 

Oh  then  too  slow  was  the  king's  cross-bow, 
For  the  deer  sprung  past  his  aim ; 

" Shoot !  Walter  Tyrrell !  shoot!"  he  cried— 
"  Shoot !  in  the  devil's  name !  "*— 

Some  say  that  the  shaft  Sir  Walter  aim'd 
Glanc'd  off  to  King  William's  heart : 

Some  say  that  the  fiend  the  King  had  nam'd 
Directed  himself  the  dart : 

Of  a  fearful  form  in  the  greenwood  bough, 

And  of  fearful  sounds  they  tell ; 
Yet  never  was  known,  from  then  till  now, 

How  William  Rufus  fell. 

His  body  lay  in  the  same  green  glade, 

All  in  an  August  sun : 
The  many  friends  his  gold  had  made, 

They  fail'd  him  every  one ; 

But  peasants  laid  it  in  a  cart, 

When  their  toil  at  Vespers  ceas'd ; 

And  the  life-blood  flowed  along  the  road 
Like  the  blood  of  a  slaughter'd  beast ; 

*  "  Trahas,  trahas  arcum  ex  parte  didboli"  are  the  words  which  the 
annalist  puts  into  the  King's  mouth. 


56  THE  LAST   HUNT   OF  WILLIAM  KTJFUS. 

And  at  Compline-tide  to  Winchester 
The  festering  corpse  they  bring  : 

And  they  laid  him  in  the  Cathedral  church 
Because  he  had  been  a  King 

But  never  a  heart  at  his  death  was  sore, 

And  never  an  eye  was  dim : 
The  church  bells  toll  for  mean  and  poor, 

But  they  never  toll'd  for  him: 

No  Psalms  they  said,  no  Prayers  they  made, 

No  Holy  Alms  they  gave : 
And  his  treasures  at  last  to  another  past, 

Ere  he  was  in  his  grave ! 


S.    THOMAS.  57 

XVII. 

l&ty  J^tartprtrom  of  &.  &f)omaa. 

Dec.  29,  1171. 

IT  is  only  within  the  last  few  years  that  justice  has  been 
done  to  the  memory  of  this  extraordinary  man  and  glo- 
rious Martyr.  For  a  most  able  defence  of  his  conduct, 
the  reader  must  consult  Mr.  Froude's  Remains.  For  the 
details  of  his  martyrdom,  I  may,  perhaps,  be  allowed  to 
refer  to  a  little  tale,  called  "  Agnes  de  Tracy." 

THEKE  came  four  knights  into  the  hall, 

and  Knights  unarmed  were  they : 
"  Hear,  Lord  Archbishop,  what  the  King 

commands  by  us  to-day  : 
Unloose  the  Prelates  thou  hast  bound 

in  Holy  Church's  band ; 
Give  up  thy  hoards  of  gems  and  gold, 

and  good  broad  hides  of  land ; 
Lay  down  the  Mitre  at  his  feet, 

and  fly  beyond  the  sea ; 
So  will  his  royal  anger  cease, 

and  'twill  be  well  with  thee." 


58  THE  MA11TYRDOM  OF 

Then  out  and  spake  that  Holy  Man, 

"  Right  well  the  King  I  love ; 
Yet,  judge  ye,  him  should  I  obey, 

or  One  That  is  above  ? 
How  can  the  wealth  of  Holy  Church 

be  meet  for  monarch's  use  ? 
The  Prelates  have  been  bound  by  GOD, 

and  how  can  mortals  loose  ? 
This  is  mine  own  Cathedral  church, 

and  here  will  I  remain : 
GOD  judge  its  wrong,  if  aught  but  death 

part  it  and  me  again  ! " 

The  four  ill  knights  have  left  the  hall ; 

they  close  the  doors  with  speed  : 
The  good  Archbishop  prayeth  now 

for  strength  in  time  of  need ; 
They  muster  in  the  court  below ; 

their  face  is  dark  with  hate ; 
They  don  their  arms — they  grasp  their  swords- 

they  thunder  at  the  gate ; 
And  from  within  the  wail  of  grief 

and  terror  riseth  high  ; 
The  monks  are  bending  on  the  knee : 

"  Fly,  Lord  Archbishop,  fly !" 


S.  THOMAS.  59 

"  What  mean  ye  by  this  outcry  strange  ? 

who  listeth  may  depart ; 
What  mean  ye  thus,"  the  Prelate  said, 

"  to  weep  and  break  mine  heart  ? 
For  Holy  Church,  Her  rights  and  lands' 

and  treasures,  whoso  dies, 
Is  offered  up  to  GOD  on  high 

a  glorious  sacrifice : 
Let  be,  let  be,  these  vain  laments ; 

or,  since  ye  thither  call, 
On  to  the  Altar !  Where  more  fit 

the  sacrifice  should  fall  ?" 

By  good  S.  Denys'  Altar,  straight  * 

the  Bishop  takes  his  place  ; 
A  gleam  of  twilight  softly  falls 

upon  his  reverend  face  : 
And  from  the  far -off  Choir  that  now 

wears  evening's  solemn  vest, 
The  Vesper  strains  trill  sweet  and  faint, 

like  hymnings  of  the  Blest ; 


*  S.  Thomas  probably  chose  this  position, — at  the  north-east  end  of 
the  north  transept,  and  since  called  the  Martyrdom,— as  wishing  to  fall 
at  the  shrine  of  one,  who,  like  himself,  was  an  Bishop  and  Martyr. 


60  THE  MARTYRDOM  OF 

He  standeth  there  with  clasped  hands  ; 

each  chapel  groweth  dim ; 
Night  cometh  fast  o'er  all  the  earth ; 

but  never  more  on  him ! 


The  four  ill  knights  are  entering  in, 

the  holy  Vespers  cease ; 
"  Strike,  if  ye  will,  this  hoary  head, 

but  let  these  go  in  peace ! 
The  Shepherd's  flock,  in  time  of  need, 

may  scatter  and  may  fly : 
The  Shepherd  it  beseemeth  best 

for  that  same  flock  to  die. 
To  GOD  in  Heav'n  my  Church,  my  soul, 

my  body  I  commend ; 
Do  as  ye  list !  and  by  His  Grace 

I  shall  endure  the  end !" 

The  Prelate  fell  as  Prelate  should : 

his  glory  cannot  die  ; 
And  for  his  meed  he  hath  a  House 

not  made  with  hands,  on  high : 


S.  THOMAS.  61 

And  here  on  earth  they  rais'd  him  up  * 

a  shrine  right  fair  to  see, 
And  great  resort  was  at  his  tomb 

that  died  so  valiantly. 
And  thither  pilgrims,  year  by  year, 

in  long  procession  came ; 
Till  Christendom  could  tell  the  tale 

of  good  S.  Thomas'  fame ! 


*  The  remains  of  the  Martyr  were  translated  with  great  pomp  into 
Becket's  Crown,  July  7,  1207  :  and  that  day  was  celebrated  by  the  Eng- 
lish Church  to  his  memory  with  greater  solemnity  than  that  of  his 
death,  probably  as  falling  at  a  more  convenient  period  of  the  year. 


62  THE  BATTLE  OF 

XVIII. 

Wqt  13attle  of  tf)e  Stantrartt. 


(Aug.  22,  1138.) 

DAVID,  King  of  Scots,  disappointed  by  King  Stephen  of 
the  Earldom  of  Northumberland,  which  had  been  pro- 
mised to  him,  overran  the  north  of  England,  committing 
the  most  horrible  barbarities.  Thurstan,  Archbishop  of 
York,  in  extreme  old  age,  assembled  the  northern  ba- 
rons, and  directed  the  curates  of  his  diocese  to  urge 
their  parishioners  to  arms.  The  victory  which  the  Eng- 
lish obtained  received  its  name  from  the  standard, 
which  bore  the  banners  of  the  three  Patron  Saints  of 
Yorkshire,  S.  Peter  of  York,  S.  Wilfrid  of  Kipon,  S. 
John  of  Beverley,  and  which  was  attached  to  a  car,  in 
the  midst  of  the  host.  The  field  of  battle  is  now  crossed 
by  the  Great  Northern  railway,  and  a  little  hill  which 
marked  the  spot  was  levelled  for  the  construction  of 
that  line. 

"  HALT  ye,  my  children !  thus  far  forth 

your  battles  I  have  led : 
Now  must  I  give  you  o'er  to  GOD," 

Archbishop  Thurstan  said. 


THE   STANDARD.  63 

"  Ye  know  that  wives  beside  the  hearth, 

and  maidens  at  the  wheel, 
And  Priests  upon  the  Altar  steps, 

have  felt  the  Scottish  steel : 
Ye  know  that  he  who  falleth  now, 

for  Holy  Church  he  dies ; 
Ye  know  that  he  who  sleepeth  here 

shall  wake  in  Paradise  ; 
Meet  absolution  have  ye  had 

for  every  sin  confess'd  : 
Go  forth,  then,  sons  of  Holy  Church, 

to  victory,  or  to  rest !  " 

Then  out  and  spake  the  noblest  twain 

that  followed  at  his  beck, 
Sir  Oliver  of  Albemarle, 

Sir  Walter  del'Espec: 
"  Perish  the  man  that  fears  to  die 

as  the  brave  have  died  before  ; 
Our  knightly  troth  that  we  return 

or  victors,  or  no  more  !" 
And  straight  a  herald,  shrill  of  voice, 

proclaim'd  throughout  the  host, 
"  The  Scots  are  at  Northallerton  ! 

each  captain  to  his  post ! " 


64  THE   BATTLE   OF 

And  high  above  the  battle-field 
three  pennons  gleam'd  afar, 

All  three  made  fast  to  one  ship's  mast, 
and  fixed  upon  one  car. 

Saint  Wilfrid  there  for  Bipon 

had  his  standard  fair  to  see : 
For  York,  Saint  Peter,  Prince  of  Saints, 

Saint  John  for  Beverley ; 
All  in  a  silver  Crucifix 

to  console  the  dying  eye, 
They  hid  the  Blessed  Sacrament, 

and  set  it  up  on  high  ; 
Then  up  stood  Orkney's  Bishop, 

and  blessed  the  kneeling  host, 
In  the  Name  of  FATHER,  bless'd  he  them, 

of  SON,  and  HOLY  GHOST. 
Look  on  the  army,  and  be  sure 

each  man  will  do  his  best : 
Look  on  the  Bishop, — who  can  doubt 

that  Heav'n  will  do  the  rest  ? 

Dashed  on  the  men  of  Galloway, 

with  Malise  of  Stratherne ; 
And  Hexham  tramples  Galloway, 

as  the  wild  ox  tramples  fern; 


THE   STANDAliD.  65 

Dashed  on  the  men  of  Teviotdale, 

all  at  Prince  Henry's  feet  ; 
And  Bipon  winnows  Teviotdale, 

as  the  barn-flail  winnows  wheat : 
Then  Lothian  and  the  Isles  fell  on, 

and  few  shall  be  their  smiles 
Who  welcome  back  the  battle-rack 

of  Lothian  and  the  Isles : 
"  Look  on  your  standard,  lords  and  knights, 

think,  yeomen,  on  your  vow  ! 
Press  on !  Press  on !  for  good  Saint  John ! 

there  is  but  Moray  now  !" 


The  Priests  and  Bishops  weep  and  pray 

with  mickle  care  and  pain, 
The  Quare  fremuerunt  ? 

was  the  burden  of  their  strain. 
The  Priests  and  Bishops  look  abroad, 

the  Scottish  Dragon  flies ; 
Te  Deum  and  Non  Nobis 

in  notes  of  triumph  rise. 
For  warriors  bold  in  days  of  old 

deem'd  fields  were  won  by  prayer ; 
E 


66  BATTLE  OF   THE   STANDARD. 

Their  fond  belief  we  laugh  to  scorn, 
who  trusted  in  GOD'S  care  : 

To  Him  their  spoils  were  dedicate, 
the  day  of  battle  o'er  : 

And  we  our  "  Gates  of  Somnauth" 
to  an  idol-shrine  restore. 


XIX. 

of  tf)t  (frallfots. 


(June  5,  1191.) 

KING  Richard,  on  the  second  day  after  leaving  Cyprus 
for  the  Holy  Land,  fell  in  with  a  Saracen  vessel,  carry- 
ing Greek  fire  and  venomous  serpents  to  the  Turks,  then 
besieged  by  the  whole  power  of  Christendom,  at  Acre. 
The  crew  is  variously  stated,  by  European  and  Arabian 
writers,  from  650  to  1500. 

i 
WE  bore  along  for  Palestine, 

a  gallant  band  were  we ; 
The  wine-dark  ocean  stretched  before, 
and  Cyprus  on  our  lee  : 


BATTLE   OF   THE   GALLIOTS.  67 

And  squires  they  burnish'd  armour  bright, 

and  knights  were  vowing  high ; 
Some  for  the  love  of  lady  fair, 

and  some  for  chivalry  : 
But  most  and  best  upon  their  breast 

beheld  the  bloody  Cross, 
And  they  vow'd  to  win  the  Sepulchre 

and  count  their  lives  as  dross ; 
And  they  longed  for  fight,  as  they  paced  the  deck, 

in  the  sultry  hour  of  noon, 
With  them  that  serve  Mahommed, 

and  call  upon  Mahoune. 

But  elder  knights  spake  mournfully 

of  their  comrades  that  were  laid 
In  the  burning,  burning  desert, 

or  beneath  the  palm-trees'  shade ; 
When  their  brethren's  band  pressed  swifter  on, 

with  trumpets  sounding  clear, 
For  the  Arab  of  the  Wilderness 

was  hanging  on  their  rear : 
And  how  they  cried  for  water, 

till  their  voice  wax'd  low  and  weak, 
And  how  the  fiery  pestilence 

flush'd  purple  in  their  cheek : 


68  THE   BATTLE   OF 

And,  one  by  one,  their  labour  done, 
With  their  last  long  sleep  opprest, 

They  laid  them  down  a  little  while  ; 
The  Desert  knows  the  rest ! 

They  say  that  he  who  dies  by  thirst, 

In  his  very  death-pang  dreams 
Of  his  country's  deep  and  shady  woods, 

her  cool  and  splashing  streams  : 
When  round  him  is  one  sea  of  sand, 

above  one  burning  glare ; 
And  like  the  blast  of  furnace, 

the  Sirocco  fires  the  air : 
No  ghostly  comfort  had  they  then, 

as  their  spirit  passed  away ; 
But  they  heard  the  jackall's  long-drawn  howl, 

as  it  track'd  its  living  prey. 
Peace  to  their  souls,  and  rest,  and  light, 

if  GOD'S  good  pleasure  be ! 
Peace  to  the  warriors  of  the  Cross, 

that  died  as  die  may  we  ! 

And  others  told  of  the  river  old, 

that  let  GOD'S  people  pass  : 
How  his  nether  waves  to  the  ocean  roll'd, 

and  his  hither  stood  like  brass : 


THE  GALLIOTS.  69 

And  the  deep,  dark  vale  of  Tophet, 

That  the  sun  ne'er  shines  upon ; 
And  the  Old  Man  of  the  Mountain, 

that  dwells  by  Lebanon ; 
And  the  Holy  City,  how  'twas  won, 

in  spite  of  wall  and  fosse, 
And  the  Crescent  sunk  from  Omar's  Mosque, 

and  Godfrey  rais'd  the  Cross : 
They  put  the  sceptre  in  his  hand, 

and  he  ruled  with  great  renown ; 
But  where  his  LORD  had  borne  the  Cross, 

he  would  not  wear  the  Crown  ! 

They  tell  strange  tales  of  the  cursed  sea, 

the  sulphurous,  the  Dead  ; 
No  fishes  in  its  wave  can  swim, 

no  bird  can  fly  o'er  head  : 
There  are  fruits  that  grow  upon  its  shore 

right  glorious  to  behold ; 
But  touch,  and  ashes  crumble 

beneath  their  rind  of  gold ! 
And  in  the  summer  evenings, 

Engeddi's  herds-men  view 
Far,  far  beneath,  the  towns  of  old 

GOD'S  vengeance  overthrew ; 


70  THE   BATTLE   OF 

And  each  wild  tale  brings  wilder  on, 

as  they  gaze  upon  the  deep  : 
And  spirits  of  the  former  days 

come  down  to  haunt  their  sleep. 

So  on  we  bore  for  Palestine ; 

and  as  we  paced  the  deck, 
"  A  sail  a-head !"  the  helmsman  said, 

ere  we  could  see  a  speck. 
Then  out  and  spake  King  Richard, 

"  We  make  the  distance  less : 
Lean  on  your  oars,  good  oannen,  lean, 

as  ye  fain  would  win  largesse." 
Then  thrice  the  sweeps  fell  right  and  left, 

where  twice  they  fell  before ; 
Each  heart  beat  high,  sharp  gazed  each  eye, 

as  on  the  squadron  bore  : 
Three  masts  the  monstrous  vessel  hath, 

and  canvas  fully  spread : 
And  a  deck  that  gleams  with  scymitars, 

and  the  Crescent  at  her  head. 

Saint  George  for  merry  England  now ! 

our  fleet  is  round  her  side  ; 
And  three  men's  height  above  our  heads, 

Their  chief  our  arms  defied : 


THE  GALLIOTS.  71 

"  ALLAH  IL  ALLAH  !"  is  their  cry, 

and  then  like  death-rain  fell 
That  thrice-accursed  fire,  at  first 

devised  by  fiends  of  hell : 
The  fire  that  burns  through  chain  and  plate, — 

the  fire  that  nought  can  quench, 
That  for  water  flames  the  deadlier, 

and  hath  poison  in  its  stench : 
Oh !  there  were  shrieks  from  knight  and  squire, 

I  hear  them  to  this  day, — 
As  'twixt  the  armour  and  the  bone 

it  burnt  the  flesh  away ! 

King  Richard  eyed  her  lofty  side, 

"  As  well  might  kids,  I  wiss, 
Encircle  some  old  lion, 

as  we  encounter  this ! 
Back,  steersman !  back,  good  oarsmen,  back ! 

and  give  your  vessel  way ! 
Then  shew  what  heads  of  steel  can  do 

on  sides  of  wood  to-day  J" 
Back  bore  the  squadron  north  and  south, 

back  bore  it  east  and  west : 
Loud  laugh'd  the  Paynim,  deeming  now 

our  weakness  was  confest : 


72  THE   BATTLE 

And  then  his  words  of  blasphemy 

right  plainly  might  we  hear : 
"  There  is  One  GOD  !  There  is  but  One ! 

Mahommed  is  His  Seer!" 

Around  him  now,  four  bowshots  off, 

our  gallant  squadron  lay, 
Their  prows  towards  the  Infidel ; 

he  needs  must  st  and  at  bay  ! 
King  Richard's  pennon  is  on  high, 

and  swift  as  lightning's  flash, 
On  the  doom'd  vessel,  one  and  all, 

our  ten  brave  galleys  dash ! 
Then  steel-head  broke  on  heart  of  oak, 

With  clash,  and  din,  and  jar ; 
And  shattered  clamp,  and  shivered  cramp, 

and  splintered  plank  and  spar : 
Right  through  the  ship's  ribs  drove  our  beaks 

a  clothier's  ell  and  more ; 
"  Back,  steersman,  back,  and  to  the  deep 

Give  further  conflict  o'er ! " 

Fast  come  the  waters  gurgling  in  ! 

the  ship  is  sinking  fast ! 
The  cr^jw  is  motionless  on  deck, 

the  canvas  -on  the  mast ; 


THE  GALLIOTS.  73 

No  mourning  base,  no  prayer  for  grace  : 

one  cry  comes  loud  and  clear, — 
"  There  is  One  GOD  !  There  is  but  One  ! 

Mahommed  is  His  Seer ! " 
Without  a  shriek,  with  unblanched  cheek, 

as  calm  as  calm  could  be, 
They,  teaching  Christians  how  to  die, 

went  down  into  the  sea. 
And  long  we  thought  upon  the  men 

that  would  not  swim,  nor  strive, 
When  of  a  thousand  Infidels 

remained  but  thirty-five  ! 


74  THE   SIEGE 


XX. 

Sitge  of  Saffa. 


(August,  1192.) 

THIS  was  the  last  exploit  of  King  Richard  in  Palestine ; 
and  with  it  all  hope  of  regaining  the  Holy  Land  vir- 
tually terminated.  Free  access  to  the  Sepulchre  was, 
however,  granted  to  pilgrims. 

IT  was  the  Lord  of  Jaffa-town, 

and  mournfully  looked  he, 
First  on  the  bristling  Paynim  ranks, 

and  then  toward  the  sea ; 
"  An  if  King  Richard  sends  no  help 

afore  the  sun  go  down, 
Then  will  I  yield,  for  yield  I  must, 

to  Saladin  the  town." 

It  was  the  men  of  Jaffa, 

and  all  the  live- long  day, 
With  straining  eyes,  and  beating  hearts, 

they  gazed  upon  the  bay  ; 


OF   JAFFA.  75 

The  Priests  say  Tierce — the  Priests  say  Sexts, — 

no  sail  upon  the  deep  : 
The  Priests  say  Nones ;  and  Christian  knights 

they  think  no  scorn  to  weep. 


It  was  the  Host  borne  forth  to  guard 

the  circuit  of  the  wall ; 
It  was  the  Priests,  that  to  their  aid 

the  LOED  of  Sabaoth  call : 
"  Think  on  Thine  own  Jerusalem, 

that  Infidels  assail : 
Think  on  the  prayers  of  Christendom, 

and  let  the  right  prevail ! 


"  Remember  all  Thy  Servants, 

that  gave  their  lives  for  Thee  : 
And  let  their  Sacrifice  of  Death 

accept  before  Thee  be : 
They  shed  their  blood  to  win  the  land 

Thy  Blessed  Feet  have  trod ; 
For  pilgrims'  love,  and  CHRIST'S  dear  sake 

they  made  the  Truce  of  GOD  ! 


76  THE   SIEGE 

"  We  put  no  trust  in  arm  of  dust, — 

we  look  to  Thee  on  high  : 
The  sun  is  sinking  to  the  sea, 

and  no  deliverance  nigh : 
O  send  us  one  more  day  like  that 

when  Thine  Arm  the  victory  won, 
And  the  sun  stood  still  on  Gibeon, 

and  the  moon  on  Ajalon !" 


It  was  King  Richard  hurrying  on, 

with  seven  brave  galleys  fast; 
Crowding  more  rowers  on  the  bench, 

fresh  canvass  on  the  mast ; 
Watching  the  sun  as  down  it  sunk, 

the  keel  as  on  it  flew, 
And  joining  all  that  man  can  pray, 

with  all  that  man  can  do. 


It  was  the  watchman  on  the  tower 

that  told  the  joyful  tale ; 
"  Seven  Pisan  galleys  round  the  Point, 

all  under  press  of  sail !" 


OF  JAFFA.  77 

Then  trumpets  brayed,  and  drums  were  beat, 

and  convent  bells  were  rung, 
And  in  the  fair  Cathedral 

the  Priests  Non  Nobis  sung. 


It  was  a  Priest  for  GOD'S  dear  love 

that  vowed  the  town  to  save ; 
It  was  a  Priest  by  GOD'S  good  help 

that  battled  with  the  wave ; 
King  Richard  hears  amidst  his  peers : 

"  They  hold  it  yet,"  quoth  he ; 
"  GOD'S  everlasting  curse  on  him 

that  will  not  follow  me !" 


Then  out  and  spake  King  Saladin, 

that  stood  upon  the  strand : 
"  Sons  of  the  Faithful,  back  a  space. 

and  let  the  madmen  land  : 
Six  hundred  thousand  of  them  glut 

the  kites  of  Acre's  shore  ; 
Bishops,  and  knights,  and  yeomen, 

and  these  shall  swell  the  score  I " 


78  THE  SIEGE 

Then  out  and  spake  King  Richard : 

"  Now  mark  the  words  I  say : 
Down  on  one  knee,  good  yeomen, 

and  keep  the  foe  at  bay ! 
The  buckler  in  the  left  hand, 

the  javelin  in  the  right : 
Thus  many  may  come  on  in  charge, 

but  few  return  in  flight !" 

It  is  the  Paynim  cavalry 

that  on  the  Faithful  drive  ; 
And  some  go  down,  and  more  rear  back, 

with  most  are  stak'd  alive ; 
Then  steel  met  steel,  and  both  lines  reel, 

with  hack,  and  stab,  and  gash, 
And  scymitars  of  Cairo 

with  spears  of  Sherwood  clash. 

Like  meteors  from  the  citadel 

the  cursed  fire-rain  fell ; 
And  rocks  came  swinging  thro'  the  air 

from  the  creaking  mangonel :  * 

*  The  mangonel  discharges  stones ;  the  balista,  quarrels  or  arrows, 
and  the  petraria,  rtcks. 


OF   JAFFA.  79 

With  spears  they  push,  with  swords  they  hew, 

with  dagger  blades  they  thrust ; 
And  one  petraria  poundeth 

twelve  infidels  to  dust. 


Serpents  and  fiery  arrows  fall 

on  baron  and  on  churl : 
Stone  after  stone,  with  jar  and  moan 

the  good  balistaB  hurl : 
To  shivers  rock,  to  splinters  steel, 

to  powder  stone  they  jam, 
As  'neath  their  penthouse  on  the  wall 

they  thunder  with  the  ram. 


Fierce  and  more  fierce,  as  daylight  ends, 

the  war-cries  rising  be : 
SAINT  GEORGE  FOR  MERRY  ENGLAND  !  here, — 

there,  MONTJOYE  SAINT  DENYS  ! 
HA  !  BEATJSEANT  !  like  a  trumpet  peal, 

drives  each  fierce  Templar  on, 
And  there  the  Hospitallers  call 

on  the  name  of  good  Saint  John ! 


80  THE   SIEGE  OF   JAFFA. 

The  falling  fall  for  Christendom : 

lament  not  thou  the  slain  : 
Their  blood  is  GOD'S  own  sacrifice ; 

it  is  not  shed  in  vain : 
For  all  that  man  holds  holiest 

they  died  that  died  that  day, 
And  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre 

their  blood  hath  won  a  way. 


XXL 

ioijn  crosses  tfje 
(1216.) 

"  His  steed  had  needs  be  fleet,  my  liege, 

his  heart  had  needs  be  brave, 
That  ventures  o'er  the  strait  to-day — 

Saint  Nicholas  him  save  ! 
Not  for  all  gold  above  the  earth, 

or  precious  gems  below, 
Would  I  be  half-way  o'er  the  Deeps, 

when  the  tide  begins  to  flow." 


KING  JOHN  CROSSES   THE   WASH.  81 

"  Let  yeomen  tremble,  if  them  list ! 

a  King  must  have  his  way  : 
Firm  is  the  sand,  and  nigh  the  land, 

and  I  will  cross  to-day." 
"  Who  faceth  peril  such  as  this, 

of  conscience  pure  needs  be  ; 
Grant  that  a  man  may  meet  it  well, — 

Sir  King,  thou  art  not  he !" 


"  When  I  return  again  in  peace, 

thy  words  thou  shalt  aby : 
The  LORD'S  Anointed  thou  hast  curs'd, 

and  thou  shalt  surely  die." 
"  If  thou  return  at  all  in  peace," 

said  then  the  hermit  bold, 
"  GOD'S  Name  will  be  blasphem'd  of  men : 

King  John,  thy  days  are  told." 


King  John's  good  steed  is  on  the  beach  : 
the  beach  is  rough  and  steep ; 

But  all  his  foot,  and  all  his  horse 
went  down  into  the  deep ! 


82  KING   JOHN   CROSSES   THE  WASH, 

And  wearily  and  painfully 

they  plough'd  their  sandy  way, 

And  gallantly  and  knightfully 
they  toil'd  the  live-long  day. 


The  King  spake  out  to  all  his  host  : 

"  Tis  yet  the  ebb  of  tide: 
One  little  hour  of  labour  more, 

and  we  gain  the  further  side." 
The  LORD  spake  out  to  all  His  waves, 

the  waves  His  voice  obey'd : 
And  in  their  might,  both  left  and  right? 

came  on  in  foam  array'd. 


At  hour  of  Prime,  the  host  went  in, 

for  all  the  sand  was  bare ; 
At  Vespers  it  was  deep  blue  sea, 

and  yet  the  host  was  there  : 
Thus  in  old  times  did  GOD  overthrow 

the  tyrants  of  His  Fold ; 
And  still  can  do  as  valiantly 

as  in  the  davs  of  old. 


FUNERAL    OF   QUEEN    ELEANOR.  83 


XXII. 

2T!)e  JFuniral  of  (fgueen  Eleanor. 

A.D.  1291. 

NEVEK  were  human  affection,  and  the  hope  of  immor- 
tality more  beautifully  combined,  than  in  the  comme- 
moration of  Edward's  beloved  Queen,  by  the  Crosses 
which  bear  her  name,  and  which  were  erected  on  the 
spots  where  her  funeral  procession  halted.  Three  of 
these  now  alone  remain,— those  at  Geddington,  North- 
ampton, and  Waltham. 

SHE  cometh  in  pomp  and  pride  ; 
And  yet  no  baron,  with  knightly  mien, 
Heralds  the  progress  of  England's  Queen  : 
No  pages  stand  waiting  the  royal  beck, 
By  the  palfrey  that  arches  his  milk-white  neck : 
No  flowers  are  strew'd  in  the  throng'd  highway, 
No  village  is  out  in  its  holiday, 

As  the  horsemen  onward  ride. 


84  FUNEHAL   OF 

Do  ye  think  on  her  glories  past  ? 
How  she  came  to  our  country  the  Royal  Bride, 
The  lov'd  of  Guienne,  to  be  England's  pride ; 
And  pleasures  waited  to  tend  her  hours, 
Her  seasons  all  spring,  and  her  paths  all  flowers : 
How  we  welcomed  her  next  to  Edward's  throne, 
"Who  had  saved  his  life,  and  had  risk'd  her  own  ? 

Then  ye  well  may  wait  the  last. 

Aye !  turn  not  aside  !  though  now 
She  is  passing  forth  with  her  mournful  train, 
The  journey  she  shall  not  return  again : 
Though  the  hands  that  love  so  oft  had  pressed 
Are  folded  in  prayer  on  her  quiet  breast : 
Who  held  her  dearest  would  now  least  dare 
To  gaze  on  the  face  that  was  late  so  fair, 

Or  to  kiss  his  loved  one's  brow. 

Yes  !  look,  and  do  not  fear  ! 
The  eye  may  be  dim,  and  the  heart  be  sore : 
But  the  silver  Cross  goes  on  before  ; 
And  Holy  Church  hath  Her  banners  high, 
To  emblem  Her  SAVIOUR'S  Victory : 
HE  hath  the  Keys  of  Death  and  Hell  \ 
And  She  in  His  Might,  hath  power  as  well, 
To  dry  the  Mourner's  tear  ! 


QUEEN   ELEANOR.  85 

She  goes  not  from  life  to  death  ! 
Nay,  rather  she  passeth  from  death  to  life, 
To  a  region  of  peace  from  a  land  of  strife  : 
And  the  Priests,  as  they  tune  the  strong  bataunt, 
The  EXPECTANS  EXPECTAVI  chatmt : 
And  they  say  the  Mass,  and  they  give  the  dole, 
For  the  light,  and  the  rest,  and  the  health  of  the  soul, 

That  breatheth  Celestial  breath. 

What  mattereth  now  to  the  dead 
The  sceptres  she  held,  and  the  crowns  she  ware, 
And  the  jewels  that  cluster'd  amid  her  hair  ? 
But  the  widows  she  cloth'd,  and  the  orphans  she  fed, 
And  the  poor  that  blessed  her  for  daily  bread, 
The  secret  sigh,  and  the  holy  prayer, — 
These  be  the  jewels  whose  virtues  rare 

A  lustre  around  her  shed ! 

Passeth  the  train  away : 
They  shall  mark  the  spots  in  future  years, 
That  were  wet  each  night  with  the  mourner's  tears : 
Where  Death  had  his  court,  they  shall  raise  the  Cross, 
Where  the  Prince  of  Life  redeem'd  Death's  loss ; 
Meanwhile,  as  the  strains  in  distance  die, 
With  humble  knee,  and  upraised  eye, 

Orate  pro  anima  ! 


86  THE   DISSOLUTION   OF 

XXIII. 

Qfy  Dissolution  of  tlje  lUligfous  I|otts*s. 
A.D.  1536. 


THE  curse  pronounced  upon  the  violaters  of  Monasteries 
and  the  detainers  of  Abbey  lands,  has,  from  the  time  of 
the  Reformation  to  our  own  day,  produced  the  most 
terrible  effects  on  the  families  who  have  been  implicated 
in  sacrilege.  I  will  give  a  single  example  of  the  anathe- 
ma itself:  that  pronounced  by  Pope  Benedict  XII.,  in 
his  charter  to  the  celebrated  Abbey  of  Cluny. 

"  Accursed  be  they,"  says  the  Pontiff,  "  that  shall 
violate  the  immunities,  rights,  property,  or  churches  of 
the  order  of  Cluny.  If  they  repair  not  the  ill  that  they 
have  done,  let  them  be  separated,  as  corrupted  mem- 
bers, from  the  Body  of  CHRIST  :  let  them  be  driven 
from  the  threshold  of  the  Holy  Church  of  GOD,  and  cut 
off  from  the  communion  of  the  Faithful.  Accursed  be 
they  walking  and  sitting,  waking  and  sleeping!  Ac- 
cursed be  they  entering  in  and  going  out,  eating  and 
drinking !  Accursed  be  their  bread  and  their  water !  the 
fruit  of  their  body,  and  the  fruit  of  their  land  !  Accursed 
be  they  with  fever  and  burning  heat  on  earth,  and  ac- 
cursed be  they  hereafter  with  demons  for  ever  and  ever ! 


RELIGIOUS    HOUSES.  87 

Let  their  children  be  fatherless,  their  wives  widows! 
Let  the  children  of  their  children  be  vagabonds,  and 
beg  their  bread !  Let  them  be  delivered  over  to  the 
anathema  that  is  written  against  sacrilege  in  the  Word 
of  GOD,  until  they  shall  have  made  reparation  for  the  ill 
they  have  done !" 


THE  Abbey  Church  is  dedicate  ! 

'Tis  glorious  to  behold 
Tall  arch,  slim  shaft,  and  goodly  pier, 

and  shrine  that  flames  with  gold. 
The  rich,  deep  hue  of  storied  glass, 

the  vaulting  groin  on  high, 
The  Rood-screen,  with  its  serges  seven, 

and  carved  imagery : 
Pier  behind  pier,  and  arch  o'er  arch, 

that  lead  both  heart  and  view 
Where  the  High  Altar  stands  to  close 

that  matchless  avenue : 
But  goodlier  far  it  is  to  mark 

the  worship  of  the  crowd; 
The  lords,  and  knights,  and  mighty  earls, 

that  reverently  are  bowed  : 


DISSOLUTION   OF 

And  clad  in  gorgeous  vest  the  Priests, 

that  raise  the  Holy  Prayer; 
And  incense-clouds  and  taper  bright, 

and  Indian  jewels  rare  : 
And  as  they  dedicate  the  House 

in  Faith  and  Holy  Hope, 
The  glistering  of  the  silver  Cross 

'twixt  chasuble  and  cope  : 
And  goodly  more  than  all  to  hear 

the  dread  Tersanctus  rise, 
As  in  the  Choir  they  offer  up 

the  Mystic  Sacrifice ; 
And  antiphonal  voices  chant 

in  cadence  soft  and  sweet, 
And  the  Celestial  Choir's  response 

the  Organ  notes  complete. 

The  Holy  Bishop  steppeth  forth ; 

his  hairs  are  white  as  snow, 
The  Deacon  holds  a  tome  writ  full 

of  bitterness  and  woe ; 
"  Accursed,"  saith  the  Prelate  then, 

"  be  he  in  future  years 
That  layeth  hands  upon  the  house 

the  pious  founder  rears ; 


RELIGIOUS   HOUSES.  89 

Accursed  in  the  city  street, 

accursed  in  the  field ; 
Earth  give  him  nevermore  her  fruit, 

nor  heav'n  its  blessing  yield ; 
Accursed  be  his  going  out, 

accursed  his  coming  in  : 
Fly  him  all  hope,  and  let  his  prayer 

be  turned  into  sin  : 
In  his  last  hour,  when  most  his  need, 

all  mercy  fail  him  then !" 
And  all  the  people,  as  one  man, 

answer'd  and  said,  "  Amen." 

"  Let  sentence  at  the  judgment-seat 

be  given  against  his  right : 
Let  Satan  stand  at  his  right  hand, 

and  let  his  day  be  night ! 
All  ills  of  earth,  all  woes  of  hell, 

his  head  and  heart  oppress  : 
And  be  his  wife  a  widow, 

and  his  children  fatherless : 
Let  them  be  wanderers,  seeking  still 

their  bread  as  best  they  may  : 
And  in  few  years  his  name  and  fame 

from  earth  be  put  away  ! 


90  DISSOLUTION   OF 

He  hated  blessing ;  wherefore  ne'er 

let  blessing  come  him  nigh  : 
He  loved  cursing  ;  let  it  then 

be  done  accordingly! 
Thus  let  it  happen  to  that  man !" 

And  solemnly  again 
The  multitude  with  one  man's  voice 

answered  and  said,  "  Amen ! " 

The  Abbey  Church  is  desolate ! 

The  Abbot's  faithless  hand 
Surrender'd  up  to  tyrant  sway 

both  revenues  and  land  ; 
No  more  the  Matin-songs  of  Praise, 

nor  Holy  Vespers,  rise ; 
Hush'd  is  the  voice  of  Compline,  ceas'd 

the  Daily  Sacrifice : 
They  break  the  glass,  they  melt  the  brass, 

they  strip  the  massy  lead  : 
They  rifle  for  their  lucre 

the  cerecloths  of  the  dead : 
They  laugh  to  scorn  the  humble  prayer 

writ  o'er  the  senseless  clay, 
That  asketh,  "  Of  youre  charite 

a  Paternoster  say :" 


RELIGIOUS   HOUSES.  91 

They  overthrow  the  Altar  tomb, 

with  effigy  and  lore, 
"  For  Jesu's  tender  love,  in  peace 

repose  they  evermore :" 
For  windows  rich  in  imag'd  Saints 

the  pink  May  blossom  glows ; 
For  frescoed  roof  and  gilded  shrine, 

the  nightshade  and  the  rose  ; 
And  for  the  organ-note  that  swell'd 

so  mellow  and  so  deep, 
The  summer  gale,  and  winter  storm, 

that  o'er  the  ivy  sweep  : 
And  for  the  House  that  once  dispens'd 

both  words  and  means  of  grace, 
Remains  a  spot  the  peasant  dreads, 

an  ill  and  haunted  place  ! 
And  oftimes,  on  the  holiest  ground 

of  all  the  holy  fane, 
You  meet  the  rude,  loud  laugh,  and  jest, 

the  viands  and  champaigne  : 
Or  from  the  heartless  connoisseur, 

in  studied  phrase  you  hear 
Of  light  and  shade,  of  heat  and  warmth, 

of  capital  and  pier  : 


92  DISSOLUTION   OF 

Or,  the  philosopher  will  teach 
how  superstitious  rite 

And  ancient  mummery,  have  fled 
before  Religion's  light. 


The  Abbey  Church  is  well  revenged  ! 

its  spoilers,  where  are  they  ? 
Where  are  the  wealthy  that  have  thriv'd 

on  fruit  of  its  decay  ? 
The  curse  hath  brooded  o'er  them  still, 

with  dry  and  tearless  eyes ; 
Hath  hovered  o'er  them  as  they  sleep, 

hath  met  them  as  they  rise  ; 
Hath  hunted  them  from  land  to  land, 

to  darkness  turn'd  their  light ; 
From  age  to  age  hath  followed  on, 

a  mildew  and  a  blight : 
Their  every  spring  of  earthly  joy 

in  bitterness  hath  steep'd ; 
They  planted  vines,  and  others  drank ; 

they  sow'd,  and  other  reap'd  : 
Their  argosies  came  back  from  sea, 

to  perish  in  the  port ; 
Their  brides  were  faithless  to  their  troth, 

or  death  their  love  cut  short ; 


BELIGIOUS  HOUSES.  93 

"  Would  GOD,"  at  close  of  even-tide, 

they  said,  "  that  it  were  light !" 
At  peep  of  morning  twilight, 

"  Would  GOD  that  it  were  night!" 
Each  sight  hath  wrought  them  bitterness, 

each  sound  hath  rung  a  knell ; 
Consumption,  fever,  pestilence, 

have  done  their  business  well ; 
Unnatural  hate,  and  violent  end, 

on  mountain,  or  in  fen  : 
Strange  ills,  and  fearful  signs  and  deaths, 

unlike  the  death  of  men : 

For  godless  hands  have  Abbey  lands 

such  fate  decreed  in  store : 
Such  is  the  heritage  that  waits 

Church  robbers  evermore  ! 


94  THE   CURSE   OF 


XXIV. 

Curse  of  tfje 


1. 

THEY  tell  us  that  the  LORD  of  Hosts 

will  not  avenge  His  Own  : 
They  tell  us  that  He  careth  not 

for  temples  overthrown : 
Go !  look  through  England's  thousand  vales, 

and  shew  me,  he  that  may, 
The  Abbey  lands  that  have  not  wrought 

their  owner's  swift  decay. 

2. 

Ill  hands  are  on  the  Abbey  Church ; 

they  batter  down  the  Nave : 
They  strip  the  lead,  they  spoil  the  dead, 

they  violate  the  grave ; 
Where  once  with  penitential  tears 

full  many  a  cheek  was  wet, 
There  thou  carousest  in  thy  halls, 

Protector  Somerset ! 


THE   ABBEYS.  95 

3. 

Look  to  the  scaffold,  reared  on  high, 

the  sawdust,  block,  and  steel ! 
Look  to  the  prisoner,  wan  of  face, 

that  turns  him  there  to  kneel : 
Hark  to  the  muffled  bell  that  calls 

that  bloody  sight  to  see  : 
Earl  Hertford,  Duke  of  Somerset ! 

the  summons  is  for  thee ! 

4. 
Thou  thought'st  no  blame,  thou  felt'st  no  shame, 

to  spoil  S.  Pancras'  shrine  : 
His  Sussex  woods,  his  Lewes  fields, 

were  all  a  prey  of  thine ; 
Thou  dravest  forth  the  monks  at  large, 

and  mad'st  their  wail  thy  mock  ; 
Ho  !  Thomas,  Baron  Cornwall ! 

prepare  thee  for  the  block  ! 


The  curses  of  the  holy  walls, 

where  men  of  GOD  have  been, 
Are  loud  against  thee,  Suffolk's  duke, 

and  cry  from  plundered  Shene ; 


96  THE  CURSE   OP   THE  ABBEYS. 

They  urge  thee  up  the  scaffold  steps, 

and  bloody  is  their  speed ; 

They  call  thee  to  the  Judgment-seat, 
to  answer  for  the  deed ! 

6 

Lord  Falkland !  thy  ancestral  crimes 

must  fall  upon  thy  head : 
S.  Alban's  Curse  at  Newbury 

prepares  thy  bloody  bed ; 
Lord  Stafford,  innocent  in  vain ! 

the  snare  is  round  thee  set : 
Lord  Russell !  stoop  thee  to  the  axe, 

for  Woburn  claims  her  debt. 

7. 

Go  up  to  Reading, — ask  if  that 

hath  wrought  its  owner's  woe ; 
Go  stand  in  Valle  Crucis  Nave, 

and  weep  o'er  sweet  Rievaulx ; 
From  Tavistock  to  Lindisfarne 

one  cry  thine  ear  shall  greet ; 
Blood  hath  had  blood,  and  spoil  had  spoil, 

till  vengeance  is  complete ! 


THE   DISCOVERY   OF    MADEIRA.  97 

XXV. 

Qfy  Biscoterg  of  J¥latfeua. 


(July  1,  1419.) 

THE  sad  legend  of  the  first  discovery  of  Madeira  by 
Robert  Machim,  an  Englishman,  and  Anna  D'Arfet,  his 
bride,  is  well  known.  Its  second  discovery  was  made 
by  the  great  Zargo,  who  had,  two  years  before,  disco- 
vered Porto  Santo.  It  is  an  authenticated  fact,  that, 
though  Madeira  may  now  be  seen  from  Porto  Santo  as 
plainly  as  Calais  from  Dover,  such  was  the  cloud  of 
exhalation  which  then  encircled  the  former  island,  that 
the  discoverer  had  no  small  difficulty  in  persuading  his 
men  to  sail  towards  what  seemed  an  immoveable  bank 
of  vapour. 

THE  tropic  bay  was  rippling, 

the  north-east  breeze  was  high  : 
And  bright  on  Porto  Santo  rose 

that  first  day  of  July : 
The  old  church  door  pours  forth  no  more 

its  crowd  adown  the  steep  ; 
And  on  the  sand  a  gallant  band 

are  bouning  for  the  deep. 

G 


98  THE   DISCOVERY   OF 

It  was  a  Friar  Minorite  ; — 

"  O  tempt  not  thus,"  quoth  he, 
"  O  tempt  not  thus,"  Lord  Zargo, 

the  dangers  of  the  sea : 
The  orange-groves  of  Cintra, 

what  groves  so  fair  as  they  ? 
What  foreign  land  can  match  the  strand 

of  Lisbon's  pleasant  bay  ? 

"  Yet  once  again,  Lord  Zargo,] 

though  dauntless  be  thy  breast, 
Look  on  the  cloud  that  like  a  shroud 

is  glooming  in  the  west : 
For  three  long  years  of  doubts  and  fears 

I've  dwelt  where  now  I  dwell  ; 
And  all  those  years  that  blackness 

hath  hovered  there  as  well. 

"  Strange  legends  are  there  of  it ; 

strange  tales  I've  heard  men  tell ; 
Some  call  it  earth's  far  limit, 

and  some  the  mouth  of  hell ; 
The  western  wind  brings  ever 

low  sounds  of  them  that  weep, 
And  cries,  that  are  not  of  the  earth, 

come  faintly  o'er  the  deep !" 


MADEIRA.  99 

Then  out  and  spake  Lord  Zargo, 

and  a  scornful  man  was  he  ; 
"  Go,  tell  such  tales  to  others, 

but  tell  them  not  to  me ; 
The  morning  hours  are  wearing ; 

my  merry  men,  to  the  bay ! 
What  better  speed  can  Christian  need 

than  we  have  had  this  day  ?" 

The  good  ship  Sao  Laurengo 

is  standing  to  the  west ; 
the  wind  is  in  her  canvas, 

the  spray  around  her  breast : 
And  as  the  day  went  slow  away, 

and  as  she  near'd  the  shore, 
Higher  and  higher  grew  the  mist, 

and  darker  evermore. 

Men  cluster'd  on  the  gangway, 

and  spoke  in  tones  of  dread, 
And  hurriedly,  each  moment, 

the  helmsman  heav'd  the  lead. 
"  How  bears  her  head  ?"  Lord  Zargo  said  : 

"  West  and  by  south,"  quo'  he ; 
"  West  lies  the  land,"  quoth  Zargo  then, 

"  and  west  our  course  must  be." 


100  THE   DISCOVERY  OF 

A  purple  haze  is  round  them, 

the  ripple  dies  away ; 
The  purple  haze  grows  purpler, 

and  stiller  grows  the  bay : 
The  water  shoals  from  ten  to  six, 

the  water  shoals  to  four, 
And  ever  through  the  darkness 

the  billows  moan  and  roar. 

Then  were  there  cries  of  terror, 

and  rending  of  the  hair ; 
One  called  on  Santiago, 

and  one  upon  S.  Clare ; 
And  swift  as  thought,  such  change  was  wrought, 

that  scarce  they  trust  their  sight, 
A  glorious  island  springs  to  view, 

all  decked  in  summer  light. 

Mountains  arrayed  with  forests, 

and  many  a  steep  ravine, 
While  many  an  ancient  river 

made  melody  between. 
And  thither,  with  her  canvas  set, 

the  gallant  vessel  bore : 
And  there  Lord  Zargo  and  his  crew 

are  standing  on  the  shore. 


MADEIRA.  101 

Beneath  four  clustering  orange-trees, 

a  stone's-throw  from  the  surf, 
There  rose  a  Cross  of  cedar-wood, 

and  two  fair  graves  of  turf: 
And  some  kind  hand  of  Christian 

had  bade  the  seaman  say 
A  Paternoster  for  the  soul 

that  there  had  passed  away. 

They  rear  a  hasty  Altar, 

with  flowers  they  deck  it  straight ; 
And  Priests  and  mariners  around 

in  seemly  order  wait : 
And  the  first  strain  Madeira  heard, 

the  Western  Ocean's  pride, 
Was  Mass  of  Requiem  for  the  souls 

of  Machim  and  his  bride  ! 


102  KING    CHARLES    THE    MARTYR 


XXVI. 

•King  O^arUs  tlje 

SETS   UP   HIS   STANDARD   AT    NOTTINGHAM. 

(S.  Bartholomew's  Eve,  1642.) 

PROBABLY  historian  never  invented  a  finer  method  of  giv- 
ing sublimity  to  a  war  which  he  was  about  to  relate,  than 
did  Clarendon,  in  closing  his  first  volume  with  the 
above  event.  He  has,  as  it  were,  in  the  preceding 
books,  been  employed  in  pointing  out  the  gathering 
clouds  and  the  rising  wind.  The  omen  with  which  he 
closes  is  the  first  flash  of  lightning  that  preludes  the 
storm. 

GOD  bless  King  Charles !     They're  moving  down ! 

The  Castle  Hill  is  gay 
With  gleaming  helms  and  waving  plumes, 

and  chivalrous  array : 
There  is  the  Royal  Standard  ! 

and  midmost  in  the  ring 
Of  noblemen  and  gentlemen 

that  fence  it,  rides  the  King  : 


SETS   UP    HIS   STANDARD.  103 

It  bears  a  golden  diadem, 

all  in  a  field  of  blue  : 
And  for  its  legend  ye  may  read 

"  Let  Ca3sar  have  his  due !" 
Hark  to  the  war-horse'  measured  tread  ! 

the  very  houses  shake ! 
They  thunder  from  the  Castle  heights 

with  falconet  and  drake ! 
S.  Mary's  bells  are  pealing  now 

a  merry  welcome  out ; 
And  drums  strike  up,  and  trumpets  bray 

and  thousand  voices  shout : 
Aye !  raise  the  cry  of  joy  again ! 

and  tell  it  out  afar, 
The  Lion  is  aroused  at  length ! 

King  Charles  goes  out  to  war ! 


The  bloody  crew  of  Westminster  ! 

Woe  !  Woe !  to  them  to  day ! 
They've  play'd  their  game,  and  play'd  it 

the  reckoning  is  to  pay ! 


104  KING  CHARLES 

There's  Straiford's  murder  cries  for  blood  ; 

Oh  GOD  of  Vengeance,  when  ? 
The  good  Archbishop's  dungeon, 

and  Montague  and  Wren :  * 
Altars  defiled,  and  Church  reviled, 

and  Holy  Bishops  chas'd, 
And  faithful  pastors  driv'n  to  die 

on  mountain,  or  in  waste ! 
The  end  is  nigh !  the  knell  is  rung, 

of  such  as  play  their  part 
With  GOD'S  Great  Name  upon  their  lips, 

and  the  devil  in  their  heart. 
England  is  up !  her  sword  is  grasp'd ! 

her  battle-bow  is  bent ! 
Call  all !  call  all !  both  gentlemen 

and  yeomen,  north  of  Trent ! 

The  drums  and  trumpets  sound  more  near  ; 

room  for  the  Life-guards !  room ! 
GOD  bless  King  Charles !  he's  passing  now, 

you  know  him  by  his  plume  ! 

*  Bishop  Montague,  of  Norwich,  suffered  from  the  intolerable  pre- 
sumption of  the  Commons  as  early  as  the  end  of  King1  James  the  First's 
reign,  and  he  was  persecuted  by  them,  more  or  less,  till  his  death. 
Bishop  Wren  of  Ely  was  imprisoned  in  the  Tower  during  the  whole  of 
the  Civil  War.  He  fortunately  survived  the  Restoration. 


SETS   UP    HIS  STANDARD.  105 

There's  the  Lord  Marshal  by  his  side  ! 

there's  Uvedale  on  before ! 
There's  Falkland  and  Southampton, 

and  six  hundred  heroes  more  ! 
And  look  how  ladies  wave  the  scarf, 

and  strong  men  bow  the  knee, 
As,  clattering  through  the  city  streets, 

goes  England's  Chivalry ! 
And  old  men  raise  their  eyes  to  Heav'n, 

and  maidens  roses  fling, 
And  children  clap  their  little  hands, 

and  cry,  GOD  save  the  King! 
It  is  a  nation's  love  that  speaks ! 

'Twere  worth  a  pound  of  gold, 
That  theVanes,  and  Pym,  and  Manchester, 

and  Lenthall  might  behold! 

"Who  says  the  clouds  are  stormy, 

and  the  sky  a  fiery  red  ? 
Who  says  the  winds  are  moaning, 

as  if  wailing  future  dead  ? 
Is  not  the  Church  upon  our  side, 

and  can  we  fail  to  win  ? 
Doth  She  not  bless  our  going  out, 

And  hail  our  coming  in  ? 


106  KING  CHARLES 

Let  men,  and  fiends,  and  all  the  powers 

of  darkness  do  their  worst, 
Yet  whom  She  blesseth,  he  is  blest, 

and  whom  She  curseth,  curst. 
And  have  we  not  a  champion  band 

to  plead  for  us  on  high  ? 
Martyrs,  and  Confessors,  and  Saints, 

A  Blessed  Company  ? 
What  if  e'en  now,  to  aid  our  cause, 

angelic  legions  wait, 
Girt  with  celestial  armour, 

round  Heav'n's  eternal  gate  ? 
What  if  e'en  now,  amid  the  blast, 

their  pinions'  rush  we  hear, 
And  their  fleet  chariots  to  our  aid 

adown  the  gale  career  ? 
Who  talks  of  Rebel-levies  ? 

their  prowess  we  contemn  : 
They  be  far  more  that  side  with  us, 

Than  they  that  fight  for  them ! 

They've  passed  the  gate ;  they're  on  the  green, 

they're  winding  up  the  hill ;  * 
The  Standard's  in  the  Marshal's  hands, 

the  army  hold  them  still : 

*  Called  to  this  day  Standard  Hill. 


SETS   UP   HIS   STANDARD.  107 

"  GOD  be  my  guardian,  as  I  make 

the  Church's  cause  mine  own ! 
As  o'er  Her  holy  side  my  shield, 

So  His  o'er  me  be  thrown ! 
I  fight  for  merry  England's  sake, 

her  Altars  and  her  laws : 
O  GOD  of  Hosts  !  the  strife  is  Thine, 

not  ours !     Plead  Thou  my  Cause ! 
And  let  them  drain  the  very  lees 

of  faction's  bitter  cup, 
Who  made  me  raise  this  Standard ! 

Earl-Marshal !  set  it  up !" 

It  writhes  and  nutters  in  the  breeze ; 

you  scarce  could  tell  its  form  : 
Now  GOD  be  with  the  Banner ! 

it  is  a  fearful  storm ! 
It  struggles  like  a  living  thing ! 

the  rude  wind  raging  round 
Rustles  and  riots  through  its  folds, 

and  yet  it  stands  its  ground ! 
It  shudders  like  an  aspen-leaf, 

as  the  gale  comes  fiercer  on ! 
It  standeth  yet !  it  yieldeth  not ! 

It  quivers !  it  is  gone  ! 


108  KING   CHARLES 

Well,  be  the  omen  as  it  may ! 

If  these  our  arms  must  fail, 
The  cause  we  love,  the  Church's  cause, 

shall  evermore  prevail; 
Tho'  all  that  host  be  swept  away, 

as  the  wind  sweeps  Ocean's  surf, 
Their  narrow  homes  upon  the  heath, 

their  couch  a  bed  of  turf, 
They  lov'd  their  Church  beyond  their  life,    * 

*  The  following1  lines  endeavour,  however  feebly,  to  express  the  feel- 
ings of  those  great  and  good  men  who  drew  their  swords  for  the  Church 
and  the  King- : — 

K.  CHARLES  :  Never  was  Prince,  that  less  than  I  fear  death, 
Should  dread  his  coming  : — speak  I  not  the  truth  ? 
For  I  have  far  more  friends  in  Heav'n  than  here ; 
Nor  ever  Prince  be  less  in  love  with  life  ; 
For  all  those  friends  laid  down  their  lives  for  me  ! 

HYDE  :  Your  Majesty,  methinks,  doth  too  much  dwell 
On  the  sad  thought — They  died  ;  and  not  enough, 
Or  on  the  joy  with  which  they  gave  their  lives, 
Or  on  the  cause  for  which  they  laid  them  down, 
Or  on  the  good  seed  which  their  blood  hath  sown. 
True,  'tis  a  mournful  thought,  that  to  them  now 
Our  victories  bring  no  joy,  no  woe  our  griefs  : 
But  this  were  sadder,  oh  how  much,  if  they 
Who  bled  for  us,  should  e'er,  by  our  default, 
Have  bled  in  vain  !     So  ardently  they  long'd 
For  that  great  jewel,  an  unfettered  Church, 
That  all  good  else  seem'd  nothing  in  the  scale ; 
Wherefore,  because  they  could  not  give  aught  more, 
They  gave  their  lives.    And  'tis  our  truest  love 


SETS   UP   HIS   STANDARD.  109 

Their  future  is  not  dim ! 
Oh  !  shed  no  tear  for  him  that  falls ! 

Oh  !  mourn  ye  not  for  him ! 
His  name  is  marked  by  hands  above 

in  Glory's  brightest  ray  ; 
Writ  with  the  things  and  men  of  old, 

that  cannot  pass  away : 

Not  to  lament  a  death  which  must  have  come 

Sometime,  and  never  could  have  come  so  bright, 

As  to  press  on  the  self-same  path  they  trod ; 

While  on  our  happier  hours  their  thoughts  descend 

Sadly,  but  sweetly,  as  the  red  leaf  falls 

On  the  fresh  flower  beneath  it.    When  again 

The  merry  wine-cup  circles  through  Whitehall, 

Then  shall  they  still  be  present,  in  our  hearts, 

Who  lie  far  off  in  moor  and  battle-height, 

While  the  wind  sings  their  requiem !     'Tis  in  truth 

A  lovely  custom,  that,  on  All  Souls'  Eve, 

When  the  bright  circle  closes  round  the  fire, 

Leaves  for  the  absent  and  departed  ones 

The  very  seats  it  was  their  wont  to  fill ; 

A  lovely  and  a  true  one  :  for  I  deem 

'Tis  but  the  shadowing  forth  of  that  most  sweet, 

Yet  most  mysterious  intercommuning, 

That,  at  some  certain  seasons,  links  the  soul 

In  closer  union  with  departed  friends. 

We  cannot  stir  without  them :  thoughts  of  them 

Do  haunt  us  like  sweet  strains ;  the  very  air 

Breathes  of  their  presence  :  where  we  go  they  come ; 

Are  with  us  in  the  forest  solitude, 

Or  full  assembly  ;  breathing  pleasant  thoughts 

Of  joys  that  we  have  known  with  them  on  earth, 

Of  joys  that  we  shall  know  with  them  in  Heav'n. 


110        KING    CHARLES   SETS    UP    HIS    STANDARD. 

But  weep  for  him  that  fails  his  Church, 

in  this  Her  hour  of  need : 
Weep  ye  for  him  that  loseth  Her, — 

for  he  is  lost  indeed ! 
For  them  that  fight  Her  battles  now, 

GOD'S  Grace  be  o'er  them  shed! 
For  them  that  stand  to  block  Her  path, 

their  blood  be  on  their  head  ! 


LORD   BROOKE.  Ill 


XXVII. 

Xortr  ISroofce  is  sf)ot  before  EttWWto  CCat^etrrai. 


(S.  Chad's  Day,  1644.) 

THE  details  of  this  remarkable  instance  of  GOD'S  judg- 
ments on  Church  violators  have  been  so  circumstan- 
tially given  by  Mr.  Gresley,  in  the  "  The  Siege  of  Lich- 
field,"  that  it  is  needless  to  do  more  than  to  refer  the 
reader  to  that  tale. 

IT  was  Lord  Brooke,  a  rebel  bold, 

from  Warwick  took  his  way, 
To  burn  S.  Chad's  Cathedral  Church 

all  on  S.  Chad  his  day : 
The  men-at-arms  came  slow  behind, 

the  horse  went  on  before, 
And  deadly  hate  their  chief  elate 

to  GOD'S  fair  Temple  bore  : 


*  S.  Chad,  Bishop  of  Lichfield,  had  a  hermitage  about  a  mile  from 
the  present  site  of  the  Cathedral,  in  a  place  now  called  Chadstowe, 
or  Stowe.  There  he  is  said  to  have  been  miraculously  supported  by  a 
stag,  and  S.  Chad's  well  is  shewn  to  this  day. 


112  LORD  BROOKE   SHOT 

"  If  Thou  vouchsaf  st,  O  LORD,"  said  he, 

"  to  give  me  Lichfield  town, 
Then  will  I  burn,  as  Jehu  did, 

yon  House  of  Baal  down  !" 

It  was  the  men  of  Lichfield  then, 

right  gloomy  was  their  cheer  ! 
They  looked  upon  the  country  round, 

the  enemy  was  near  : 
They  looked  upon  their  battlements, — 

their  battlements  were  weak ; 
They  looked  upon  their  garrison, 

munitions  were  to  seek. 
They  looked  upon  their  three  fair  spires,  * 

and  thought  of  GOD  on  High  : 
They  looked  upon  their  fathers'  tombs, 

and  vowed  for  them  to  die. 

It  was  Sir  Richard  Dyott, 

a  gallant  knight  to  see ; 
"  Death  may  come  oft  before  he  comes 

in  so  good  cause,"  quoth  he : 
"  If  for  our  Holy  Fatherhood, 

and  for  our  kingly  sway, 

*  These  three  spires,  however,   were  not  then,  as    they  are   now, 
unique  among  the  English  Cathedrals. 


BEFORE  LICHFIELD   CATHEDRAL.  113 

Of  banners  gay,  and  fair  array, 

the  rebel-captain  boasts  : 
With  him  there  is  an  arm  of  flesh, 

with  us  the  LORD  of  Hosts ! 


It  was  the  Priests  that  straight  arose, 

and  Litany  was  sung  : 
Down  Nave,  and  Aisles,  and  Transepts  fair, 

the  Miserere  rung : 
"  Spare  us,  Good  LORD  !  and  crush  our  foe, 

and  laugh  to  scorn  his  rage : 
Give  not  Thy  people  to  rebuke, 

nor  leave  Thine  Heritage  ! 
Or  since  our  sins  have  well  deserved^ 

that  we  be  put  to  shame,! 
Spare  yet  the  house  our  fathers  reared 

so  goodly  to  Thy  Name !" 


It  was  the  sound  of  war  and  siege ! 

They  marshal  for  attack : 
With  mattock,  basket,  pioneer, 

and  ladder,  for  the  sack : 
H 


114  LORD   BROOKE    SHOT 

Come  on  both  pikemen,  men-at-arms, 

and  heady  volunteers : 
With  rammers,  sponge,  and  touchwood  match, 

come  on  the  cannoneers : 
And  out  spake  Brooke,  above  the  rest, 

in  midmost  of  the  line  : 
"  We  go  about  Thy  work,  to-day  ! 

Vouchsafe,  O  LORD,  a  sign !" 


It  was  a  man  both  deaf  and  dumb  * 

was  in  the  central  Tower : 
Before  him  lay  the  silver  moat, 

beyond,  the  rebel-power; 
He  leant  his  piece  upon  the  wall, 

and  cunning  aim  he  took, 
Where,  in  his  prayer,  with  visor  up, 

and  eyes  towards  Heav'n,  stood  Brooke  : 
The  trigger  fell,  the  flint  struck  true, 

the  bullet  sped  its  way ; 
And  that  same  instant,  in  the  dust 

the  bold  blasphemer  lay. 


*  His  name  was  Dyott :  he  was  a  brother  of  the  knight  of  the  same; 
name. 


BEFORE   LICHFIELD    CATHEDRAL.  115 

It  was  a  soldier  standing  by  : 

"  Now  praise,"  quoth  he,  "  GOD'S  Name, 
For  half  that  space,  except  by  grace, 

were  far  beyond  our  aim. 
He  asked  a  sign  :  a  sign  he  hath ! 

it  entered  in  the  eye, 
Wherewith  he  trusted  he  should  see 

GOD'S  Church  in  ruins  lie. 
He  asked  a  sign :  a  sign  he  hath  ! 

and  he  who  would  not  pray 
'Gainst  sudden  death,  by  sudden  death  * 

is  called  unshriv'd  awav." 


It  was  the  good  Lieutenant  then, — 

"  Now  out  upon  the  foe ! 
An  easy  prey  is  ours  to-day, 

since  rebel  Brooke  is  low. 
And  by  the  terror  of  his  fall, 

let  future  ages  see 
GOD'S  Church  is  still  His  care,  and  still 

He  doeth  valiantly ! 


*  Lord  Brooke  (a  high  Calvinist)  had  always  objecttv.l  to  the  petition 
in  the  Litany  against  sudden  death. 


116  LORD  BROOKE  SHOT. 

And  tell  how  Brooke,  sworn  enemy 
to  GOD'S  fair  Temples,  lay 

Before  Saint  Chad's  Cathedral  church, 
all  on  Saint  Chad,  his  day ! 


XXVIII. 

in  tl;c 


BISHOP  Wren,  "  the  least  of  these  birds,  but  the  foul- 
lest,"  says  a  Puritan  writer,  the  companion  and  friend  of 
Laud,  Montague,  and  Mainwaring,  was  imprisoned  in 
the  Tower  at  the  commencement  of  the  Civil  War,  and 
remained  there  till  the  Restoration,  when  he  was  restored 
to  the  see  of  Ely. 

THIS  is  the  lot  Thy  Will  ordains  : 

This  is  the  lot  I  gladly  take) 
Only,  O  LORD,  where  Satan  reigns, 

One  humble  prayer  to  Thee  I  make  : 
O  give  me  yet,  before  I  die, 
To  see  Thy  Church's  victory ! 


BISHOP   WHEN  IN    THE   TOWER.  117 

I  think  of  those  with  whom  I  shar'd 

Unfear'd  defeat,  unhop'd  success : 
Of  all  we  did,  of  all  we  dar'd, 

Of  all  that  GOD  vouchsaf  d  to  bless  : 
O  give  me  yet  once  more,  say  I, 
To  join  my  brethren  ere  I  die  ! 


The  same  sweet  counsel  did  we  take, 
In  the  same  House  of  Prayer  we  knelt, 

And  lips  with  one  another  spake, 
And  hearts  with  one  another  felt : 

Oh !  be  it  joy,  or  be  it  care, 

Be  mine,  say  I,  my  brethren's  share  ! 


I  know  each  stands  to  guard  his  post : 
For  Holy  Church  each  plays  the  man : 

And  I  alone,  of  all  the  host, 

Aid  in  the  strife  no  longer  can  : 

That  once  to  victory,  or  to  rout, 

Went  with  the  foremost  in  and  out. 


118  BISHOP   WEEN    IN    THE    TOWER. 

Yet  have  we  all  one  end  in  view ; 

Beneath  one  LORD  of  Hosts  all  fight : 
To  me  to  bear,  to  them  to  do. 

He  giveth,  Whose  award  is  right : 
Their  hope  more  fair,  my  light  more  dim ; 
But  each  with  each,  and  all  for  Hm. 


XXIX. 

3TfK  .plartprttom  of  llrdjfcisfyop  ICatrtr. 

(Jan.  10, 1645.) 

TH  E  season  is  past  of  his  sufferings  at  last, 

And  his  end  is  drawing  nigh : 
And  now  the  good  Archbishop  stood 

By  the  place  where  he  must  die. 

He  had  guarded  the  Church  from  wicked  men, 

In  troublesome  times  of  strife  : 
All  they  could  take  he  had  lost  for  Her  sake, 

And  now  he  must  lose  his  life. 


AKCHBISHOP   LAUD.  119 

But  as  he  pass'd  up  Tower  Hill, 

'Twas  a  marvellous  sight  to  see 
How  door,  and  roof,  and  window-sill, 

Were  as  throng'd  as  throng'd  could  be ; 

How  down  to  the  Thames  from  the  Tower  wall 

A  troop  of  horsemen  ran  ; 
And  soldiers  were  drawn  in  array,  and  all 

To  guard  one  weak  old  man  ! 

But  as  he  went,  there  were  hands  stretched  out, 

If  they  might  but  touch  his  side ; 
And  strong  men  turned  their  heads  about, 

And  like  little  children  cried. 

So  stedfastly  the  scaffold  steps 

That  good  Archbishop  trod, 
As  one  that  journey'd  to  his  home, 

And  hasten'd  to  his  GOD. 

And  there  the  great  axe,  in  the  winter  sun, 

Was  glittering  like  to  gold ; 
And  the  block  was  there,  and  the  men  in  masks, 

Right  fearful  to  behold. 


120  THE   MARTYRDOM   OF 

The  Archbishop  knew  why  each  was  there ; 

Yet  manfully  all  he  eyed : 
For  he  that  feareth  ALMIGHTY  GOD 

Hath  nothing  to  fear  beside. 

"  I  have  been  long,"  he  said,  "  in  my  race, 
And  suffer'd  much  pain  and  loss  ; 

Now  to  its  end  I  am  coming  apace, 
And  here  I  find  the  Cross ; 

"  And  in  sight  of  men,  and  of  Angels  too, 

In  sorrow  and  shame  I  stand : 
But  the  shame  must  be  despis'd :  or  else 

No  coming  to  GOD'S  Right  Hand. 

"  I  have  the  weakness  of  nature  still, 
And  have  pray'd  both  night  and  day, 

If  it  stood  with  my  Heavenly  FATHER'S  will, 
That  the  cup  might  pass  away. 

"  He  is  as  able  to  rescue  me 

Now  from  ungodly  men, 
As  He  was  to  deliver  the  Children  Three 

From  the  fiery  furnace  then  ; 


ARCHBISHOP   LAUD.  121 

"  His  hand  was  with  them  to  bring  them  through, 

And  a  glorious  victory  won ; 
So  He  can  do  once  more ;  if  not, 

His  will,  not  mine,  be  done. 

"And  if  He  bids  me  to  cross  the  sea 

That  I  have  full  in  view, 
I  shall  enter  its  waves  right  willingly, 

Yea,  and  pass  through  them  too ! 

"  I  would  not  leave  my  fathers'  Church, 

And  before  Dissenters  bow ; 
For  that  I  have  borne  both  shame  and  scorn, 

And  for  that  I  must  suffer  now." 

Then  he  prayed  in  silence  a  little  space, 
For  the  King,  and  himself,  and  his  fold ; 

And  when  he  arose  again,  his  face 
Was  glorious  to  behold. 

Then  he  knelt  by  the  block,  and  he  gave  the  sign 
That  should  carry  him  home  to  his  rest ; 

And  that  same  moment  the  great  axe  fell, 
And  his  spirit  was  with  the  blest. 


122  DEATH    OF   THE 

XXX. 

Beat!)  of  tfje  princess  1Eii 


THE  Princess  Elizabeth,  a  child  of  five  years  old,  and 
daughter  of  King  Charles  the  Martyr,  was  seized  with  a 
dangerous  illness  while  confined  in  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
When  dying,  she  was  asked  if  she  would  not  pray.  "  I 
cannot  say  my  long  prayer,"  she  replied,  meaning  the 
LOED'S  Prayer,  "  but  I  will  say  my  short  one, — Con- 
sider and  hear  me,  O  LORD  my  GOD,  lighten  mine  eyes, 
that  I  sleep  not  in  death."  And  so  saying,  she  expired. 


WHEN  evil  days  seem  coming  o'er  us, 

And  evil  men  wax  worse  and  worse ; 
Their  patterns  who  have  gone  before  us, 

Our  fears  shall  calm,  our  hopes  shall  nurse : 
In  Holy  Church  is  blessed  union 

'Twixt  us  and  those  whose  work  is  done ; 
They  that  have  slept  in  Her  Communion, 

And  we  that  live  therein,  are  one. 


PRINCESS   ELIZABETH.  123 

Yet  think  we  not  that  they  forget  us, 

Nor  aid  us  in  our  hour  of  ill : 
Their  lives  are  as  ensamples  set  us, 

Their  spirits  hover  o'er  us  still ; 
Nor  Saints  alone  and  Martyrs  preach  us, 

Sweet  love  of  Faith  and  Hope  in  GOD  : 
The  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  teach  us 

To  tread  the  steps  that  they  have  trod. 


A  Princess  one, — and  yet  a  stranger : 

A  harmless  child,  and  yet  a  thrall : 
In  hour  of  sickness  and  of  danger, 

And  not  a  friend  to  hear  her  call : 
Forsaken,  yet  not  broken-hearted : 

True  child  of  Holy  Church  was  she  ; 
Her  father  from  her  side  was  parted, 

Her  Heavenly  Father  could  not  be  ! 


They  saw  her  face  begin  to  alter, 

They  knew  her  soul  would  pass  away : 

And  as  her  voice  began  to  falter, 

They  ask'd  her  if  she  would  not  pray  ? 


124  DEATH   OF  THE   PRINCESS  ELIZABETH. 

"  I  cannot  say  my  prayer,  *  Our  FATHER/ 
Because  I  scarce  know  how  to  speak ; 

And  yet  I  think  that  He  will  gather 
Into  His  Fold  a  lamb  so  weak. 

"  He  will  not  let  the  sickness  frighten 

His  child,  though  feeble  be  her  breath ; 
So  I  will  only  ask  him,  '  Lighten 

Mine  eyes, lest  I  should  sleep  in  death.'" 
Such  varying  strength  of  consolation 

The  Church  receiveth  from  Her  Head ; 
To  triumph  in  Her  martyr's  Passion, 

To  calm  Her  infant's  dying  bed ! 


THE  WHITE   KING'S  FUNERAL.  125 


XXXI. 

te  King's 


KING  Charles  the  Martyr  was,  in  his  life,  known  as  the 
White  Kingj  from  his  exemplary  purity,  and  from  his 
having  made  choice  of  that  colour  for  his  coronation, 
robes. 

'TWAS  a  winter  night,  and  the  pall  was  white, 

For  the  snow  fell  thick  and  fast, 
As  to  its  grave  in  Windsor  Nave, 

The  White  King's  coffin  past. 

The  good  King  Charles,  it  was  meet  that  he, 

Whose  reign  on  earth  below 
Had  been  spotless  and  pure  as  pure  could  be, 

Should  have  now  a  crown  of  snow. 

There  had  risen  against  him  a  rebel-host, 

And  he  sank  before  his  foes ; 
And  his  faith  was  tried  to  the  uttermost, 

And  brightest  it  shone  at  the  close. 


126  THE  WHITE   KING'S  FUNERAL. 

For  the  Church  his  life  he  held  not  dear, 

For  the  Church  he  came  to  die ; 
And  in  that  season  of  doubt  and  fear, 

There  was  one  of  Her  Bishops  by. 

"  Now,"  said  that  Bishop,  "  there  only  remains 

One  stage,  one  short  stage  more ; 
It  shall  bear  you  quickly  from  fear  and  pains 

To  the  place  where  pains  are  o'er." 

"  From  death,"  said  the  King,  "  to  life  I  go ; 

From  bondage  to  be  freed  ; 
To  a  Palace  above  from  a  dungeon  below : 

A  blessed  exchange  indeed  !" 

No  trumpet  might  sound,  no  banner  might  wave, 

As  his  coffin  was  borne  on  its  way ; 
That  Bishop  was  ready  beside  the  grave, 

But  they  would  not  let  him  pray  ; 

For  they  made  great  search  for  the  sons  of  the  Church, 

And  such  in  their  dungeon  they  laid  ; 
Fools  !  as  if  they  who  endure  for  a  day 

Could  unmake  what  GOD  had  made  ! 


THE   WHITE   KING'S  FUNERAL.  127 

The  Church  they  spoil'd,  and  Her  Bishops  fell, 
And  they  thought  they  had  crush'd  Her  outright ; 

But  is  it  not  written,  "  The  gates  of  hell 
Shall  never  destroy  Her"  quite  P 

She  rose  again ;  and  we  have  Her  still, 

And  She  nevermore  can  fail ; 
Though  Dissenters  may  strive  to  work  Her  ill, 

They  cannot  for  long  prevail. 

So  if  e'er  she  is  touch'd  by  wicked  men, 

We  will  stand  by  Her  holy  side ; 
And  if  it  should  come  to  the  worst, — why  then 

We  can  die  as  the  WHITE  KING  died ! 


128         THE  DEATH  OF  LORD  DERBY. 


XXXII. 

of 


THE  headsman's  at  his  post : 

the  Earl  is  on  his  knees : 
There's  a  murmur  through  the  host 

Like  the  wind  on  forest  trees  ; 
"  In  battle-field  his  heart  beat  high  ; 

But  can  he  like  a  traitor  die  ?" 

The  Earl's  last  prayer  is  said : 
the  sorrowing  Priests  retire ! 

But,  as  he  turn'd  his  head, 
He  saw  a  distant  spire  : 

Tipp'd  with  the  yellow  light,  afar 

It  shineth  like  some  peaceful  star. 

"  I  pray,  Sirs,  turn  the  block : 

All  for  the  Church's  name 
I've  faced  the  battle-shock, 

I  die  this  death  of  shame  : 
And  I  would  fain  that  church  might  be 
The  last  of  earth  mine  eyes  shall  see." 


THE  DEATH  OF  LORD  DERBY.        129 

They  would  not  hear  his  prayer  : 

"  Well !  be  it  as  ye  will ! 
My  soul  will  soon  be  there 

Where  ye  can  do  no  ill. 
Lead  on,  Sirs !"     Long  his  fame  endure, 
The  Martyr-chief  of  Bolton-Moor ! 


XXXIII. 

of  fitter  CDromtodl. 


THE  whole  course  of  history  presents  no  more  terrible 
example  of  one  who  was  given  over  to  a  strong  delu- 
sion, than  the  case  of  Cromwell.  With  the  single  ex- 
ception of  that  moment  of  anguish,  in  which  he  en- 
quired whether  a  Saint  could  fall  away  from  grace,  and 
received  for  answer,  Neither  finally  nor  fatally,  "  there 
were  no  bands  in  his  death."  He  prayed  little  for 
himself;  but  occupied  himself  in  interceding  for  Eng- 
land. His  chaplains,  in  their  public  prayers,  said  ex- 
pressly, "  We  ask  not  for  his  life  :  we  know  that  it  is  of 
too  much  consequence  to  be  in  jeopardy ;  but  we  ask  for 
I 


130  THE    DEATH    OF 

his  speedy  recovery.  The  Independents  could  hardly 
be  persuaded  of  his  death  :  and  were  only  consoled  by 
the  thought  that  his  intercessions  would  avail  them 
more  on  high  than  even  when  he  was  on  earth.  At  the 
hour  of  his  death,  there  was  a  terrible  storm :  tradition 
reported  that  one  had  occurred  at  his  birth,  There  had 
also  been  a  tempest  five  days  before :  Bond,  an  Inde- 
pendent of  some  repute,  died  in  its  course.  On  which 
some  Royalist  observed,  that  the  Devil  had  sent 
for  Cromwell,  and  he  not  being  ready,  had  taken  Bond 
for  him. 

THERE  are  signs  on  the  earth,  there  are  signs  in  the  sky : 
There's  the  tempest  below,  and  the  whirlwind  on  high  : 
To  her  last  long  account,  from  her  cottage  of  clay, 
The  soul  of  the  Tyrant  is  passing  away ! 

The  whirlwind  was  loud  at  the  hour  of  his  birth, — 
He  came,  like  a  whirlwind,  to  trouble  the  earth ; 
And  now,  through  his  groans,  and  the  gasps  of  his  breath 
The  whirlwind  is  loud  round  the  chamber  of  death. 

'Twas  his  birth-day;  the  day  of  his  fortunate  star:* 
The  day  of  dark  Worcester,  and  bloody  Dunbar : 
When  his  foes  fell  before  him  like  leaves  in  the  blast, 
But  a  mightier  than  he  stands  beside  him  at  last ! 

*  It  is  well  known  that  Cromwell  regarded  September  the  2nd  as  a 
fortunate  day,  and  had  often  referred  to  it  as  such. 


OLIVER   CROMWELL.  131 

There  are  balsams  of  virtue  his  sickness  to  heal, 
There  are  waters  whose  magic  could  work  to  his  weal  :* 
They  will  not  regard  them — they  will  not  apply, 
For  'tis  written  above  that  the  Tyrant  must  die  ! 

By  treason  and  rapine  he  climb'd  towards  his  Throne, 
And  the  Crown  that  he  long'd  for,  but  called  not  his  own  : 
By  the  Puritan  fear'd,  by  the  Loyal  abhorr'd, 
His  safety  was  terror,  his  sceptre  the  sword. 

Yet  now,  as  the  season  draws  near  he  must  part, 
There  is  hope  in  his  eye,  there  is  peace  in  his  heart ; 
And  the  chaplains  pray  low  in  the  canopied  room, 
So  king-like  in  silence,  so  lordly  in  gloom : 

Yet  once,  as  if  fear  in  his  bosom  held  sway, 

He  hath  asked,  "  If  the  faithful  can  e'er  fall  away  ?" 

And  joy  at  the  answer  flush'd  out  in  his  face, — 

"  Then  I  needs  must  be  saved,  for  I  once  was  in  grace  !" 


*  Cromwell's  disease  was  a  Tertian  Ague.  In  all  probability  the  Pe- 
ruvian Bark  would  have  saved  his  life.  But  this  medicine  was  re- 
garded, at  its  first  introduction,  with  great  jealousy  by  physicians. 
When  King  Charles  the  Second  was  labouring  under  an  ague,  his  phy- 
sicians were  most  reluctant  to  administer  it ;  and  it  was  only  done  on 
his  positive  command.  It  probably  saved  his  life. 


132  THE   DEATH   OF   OLIVER  CROMWELL. 

Oh,  'tis  fearful  to  witness  the  terrors  that  rend 
The  heart  of  a  sinner  approaching  his  end : 
His  forecasts  of  Judgment,  his  memories  of  ill ; 
But  the  peace  of  a  Cromwell  is  fearfuller  still ! 


XXXIV, 

€Df)arles  tfje  Secontr 

MAKES  HIS  PUBLIC  ENTRY  ON  BLACKHEATH. 


(May  29,  1660.) 

A  BRAVE  old  tree  is  English  Oak, 

that  breaks,  but  never  bends ! 
A  bitter  winter  was  its  lot, 

but  the  spring  shall  make  amends  ! 
A  hundred  thousand  Englishmen 

have  burst  Rebellion's  yoke  ; 
A  hundred  thousand  Englishmen 

have  each  a  sprig  of  oak ; 


KING  CHARLES   THE   SECOND  133 

Oh,  many  a  tree  waves  gallantly 

in  forest  and  in  fell ; 
But  of  the  rest  the  prince  confest 

is  that  of  Boscobel ! 
Look  to  the  dust  on  Shooter's  Hill ! 

and  hearken  to  the  drum  ! 
And  see  the  pursuivant-at-arms, — 

The  Royal  Exiles  come  ! 

Rightly  goodly  are  the  Trained  Bands, 

that  glitter  in  their  gold ; 
The  Mayor  and  all  the  Aldermen, 

are  goodly  to  behold ; 
The  plumes  are  fluttering  on  the  heath  ; 

the  standards  waving  nigh ; 
The  craft  upon  the  river 

have  each  their  flag  mast-high ; 
And  English  chivalry  hath  donn'd 

the  surcoat  for  the  mail ; 
And  English  beauty  forward  leans, 

and  flings  aside  the  veil ; 
Now,  by  my  faith,  I  would  Old  Noll 

could  have  one  day  of  grace, 
So  he  might  stand  where  now  I  stand, 

and  meet  us  face  to  face  ! 


134  KING  CHARLES   THE    SECOND 

Hark  !  to  the  murmur  o'er  the  heath, 

that  loud  and  louder  runs  ! 
Hark !  to  the  deep-ton'd  city  bells, 

and  the  distant  Tower  guns ! 
The  Barge  is  up  from  Westminster, 

to  wait  the  turn  of  tide  ; 
The  Lions  and  the  Fleurs-de-lys 

are  trailing  o'er  its  side ; 
And  Greenwich  streets  and  Greenwich  hill 

are  throng'd  as  throng'd  can  be ; 
One  sea  of  heads  from  Charlton  Church 

as  far  as  Deptford  Quay : 
The  cavalcade  is  on  Blackheath  ! 

Hark  to  the  cheer  and  cry  ! 
Strike  drums !  down  keees !  up  hats  and  caps, 

The  King  is  going  by  ! 

How  gallantly  he  checks  his  steed, 

that  chafes  and  foams  the  while ! 
How  gallantly  he  bows  to  thank 

bright  eye  or  brighter  smile  ! 
Muskets  and  cannons  royally 

times  one  and  twenty  roar  ; 
And  kettledrums  and  trumpets  bray 

around,  behind,  before; 


MAKES   HIS   PUBLIC   ENTRY.  135 

They  strew  the  way  with  flowers  and  silk  • 

The  Mayor  is  on  his  knees ; 
The  Sheriffs  and  the  Aldermen 

are  giving  up  the  keys. 
GOD  bless  the  King  !     Old  England 

shall  be  merry  England  yet ; 
GOD  bless  the  Duke  of  Albemarle  ! 

A  nation's  in  his  debt ! 

Mark  how  he  takes  the  Bible  now, 

and  clasps  it  to  his  breast, 
And  promiseth  to  make  it  still 

his  hope,  and  stay,  and  rest ! 
"  And  by  our  royal  word,"  he  saith, 

"  the  fault  hath  lain  on  us, 
Who  came  no  sooner  to  a  land 

that  gives  its  welcome  thus !" 
Where's  Holland  now,  the  renegade  ? 

where's  Peters,  Prynne,  and  Vane  ? 
Where's  Bradshaw,  too,  the  most  accurs'd 

of  all  the  rebel  train  ? 
That  thing  which  once  they  hated  sore, 

and  made  their  venom's  mark ; 
That  thing  are  they  become  themselves, 

"  DUMB  DOGS  THAT  CANNOT  BARK  !" 


136  KING   CHARLES   THE   SECOND. 

Boom,  gentlemen  of  Kent,  in  front ! 

The  King  moves  on  that  way  ! 
Sound  trumpets,  you  that  go !  and  light 

the  bonfires,  you  that  stay ! 
Where  is  the  cart  that  bears  the  Bumps  ? 

Who  wants  to  rule  the  roast  ? 
The  poor  shall  feast  their  fill  to-day, 

And  never  pay  their  host. 
The  cheers  and  trumpets  die  away, 

as  down  the  hill  they  go  : 
And  now  you  catch  the  loyal  shout 

of  the  crowd  that  waits  below  ! 
"  GOD  bless  the  Church,  the  poor  man's  Church, 

and  give  Her  sway  once  more  ! 
GOD  bless  the  King,  and  send  us  soon 

a  Queen  to  England's  shore. ' 

*  Among  other  demonstrations  of  the  popular  hatred  of  the  Com- 
monwealth, one  of  the  most  favourite  was  the  roasting  lumps,  in 
mockery  of  the  Rump  Parliament. 


THE  GREAT  PLAGUE.  137 


XXXV. 


(A.D.  1666.) 

RIGHT  well  remember  I  the  course 

of  threescore  years  and  ten  ; 
But  like  the  plague-year,  never  one 

so  terrible  to  men. 
The  heav'n  above  was  adamant, 

the  earth  beneath  was  brass  : 
A  copper  haze  was  in  the  sky, 

and  wither'd  herb  and  grass  : 
The  sun  by  day,  by  night  the  moon, 

shone  out  with  bloody  glare ; 
And  evil  spirits  were  abroad 

to  taint  the  wholesome  air : 


138  THE   GREAT   PLAGUE. 

All  in  the  fields  the  cattle  died, 

the  fruit  upon  the  tree  : 
There  were  strange  sights,  and  mighty  signs, 

and  portents  dread  to  see  : 
There  fell  upon  the  minds  of  men 

a  horror  and  a  dread : 
111  visions  haunted  them  by  day, 

ill  dreams  were  round  their  bed : 
A  fiery  sword  was  o'er  the  land, 

of  pale  and  leaden  hue  : 
Few  of  such  terrors  men  have  seen, 

but  I  remember  two : 
The  first  was  slow,  and  sickly-hued, 

and  solemn  to  behold, 
And  ghastly  in  a  ghastly  sky ; 

and  that  the  Plague  foretold : 
The  next  was  brightly  terrible, 

and  flash'd  forth  ruddy  flame, 
Flickering  and  quiv'ring  through  the  air, 

before  the  Fire  it  came. 
From  marsh  and  fen  unwholesome  steam 

were  rising  day  by  day : 
The  air  had  all  the  hush  of  death, 

the  breeze  forgot  to  play : 


THE   GKEAT   PLAGUE.  139 

And  in  the  churchyards,  as  night  fell, 

a  sheeted  ghost  came  out, 
And  pointed  first  toward  the  ground, 

and  then  to  those  about : 
Yea,  and  they  spake  of  strange  low  calls, 

that  voic'd  the  lonely  man  ; 
And  citizens  look'd  each  on  each, 

and  all  were  pale  and  wan : 
Such  are  the  signs  that  evermore 

before  GOD'S  Vengeance  run  : 
Wrath  is  gone  out  before  the  LORD  : 

the  plague-stroke  is  begun ! 

Then  went  a  rumour  thro'  the  crowd, 

but  none  knew  how  nor  whence ; 
Men's  talk  was  of  a  Turkey-ship 

that  brought  the  pestilence  : 
And  ye  might  meet  in  every  street, 

with  remedies  right  sure, 
And  charms  of  power,  in  magic  hour 

infallible  to  cure : 
But  here  and  there  the  doors  were  nail'd 

with  the  fearful  cross  of  red ; 
The  LORD  HAVE  MERCY  !  here  and  there 

spoke  wretchedness  and  dread : 


140  THR  GREAT  PLAGUE. 

And  friend  scarce  gave  good  day  to  friend, 

and  on  to  business  past, 
And  marts  were  shut,  and  there  were  streets 

whereby  men  hurried  fast : 
And  plague -deaths  shew'd  amid  the  list, 

though  far  between  and  few  ; 
For  them  who  died  not  of  the  Plague 

the  SPOTTED  FEVER  slew  : 
From  the  Bishop's  Gate  to  Temple  Bar 

press'd  chariots  out  in  haste ; 
And  men  went  hurrying  from  the  town 

to  lay  the  country  waste  : 
Night  after  night,  with  funeral  light, 

the  dead  cart  went  about  ; 
And  grass  was  green  in  every  street, 

and  there  were  few  went  out : 
They  digg'd  a  pit  to  hide  their  dead, — 

they  made  it  wide  and  deep, 
And  there  they  brought  the  plague-struck  men, 

and  flung  them  in  like  sheep  : 
No  words  of  grace,  no  hallo w'd  place, 

no  prayer,  no  chaunt,  no  priest, 
No  mourners  ;  they  were  buried 

with  the  burial  of  a  beast : 


THE   GREAT   PLAGUE.  141 

Some  that  in  mortal  agony 

had  writh'd  upon  the  bed ; 
Some  that  at  once,  without  a  pang, 

amidst  the  street  fell  dead : 
And  as  the  deaths  came  thicker  on, 

and  wilder  grew  the  cry, 
Men's  thought  was, "  Let  us  eat  and  drink  ; 

to-morrow  we  shall  die !" 
They  threw  away  all  hope  in  GOD, 

they  threw  away  all  dread : 
For  rash  and  prudent,  each  and  all, 

were  number'd  with  the  dead. 

All  thoughts  and  remedies  of  men 

before  GOD'S  Vengeance  bow  : 
Now  is  thy  time,  O  Holy  Church ! 

for  not  of  men  art  thou ! 
The  Priests  are  in  the  Palace-hall, 

the  Priests  are  in  the  street,  * 
The  Priests  go  on  from  death  to  death 

with  never-tiring  feet : 

*  The  case  of  Mr.  Mompesson,  of  Eyam,  will  probably  occur  to  the 
reader's  memory. 


142  THE  GREAT    PLAGUE. 

With  That  Blest  Food  they  fortify 

the  heart  of  sorrow  bent : 
The  hard  of  heart  they  soften,  they 

absolve  the  penitent : 
Yea,  and  their  lives  they  held  not  dear, 

if  so  GOD'S  special  grace 
Might  but  descend  upon  their  flock, 

in  finishing  their  race. 
Men  that  have  laugh'd  at  battle-fields 

before  the  Plague  will  quail : 
CHRIST'S  soldier  waxeth  mightiest, 

when  mightiest  foes  assail ! 
A  small  thing  seem'd  it  in  their  eyes 

to  yield  their  mortal  breath  ; 
Their  wives,  and  sons,  and  all  their  homes 

were  dedicate  to  death : 
This  is  the  Church  that  men  despise 

at  distance  from  the  grave : 
This  is  the  Church  men  find  in  death 

the  only  Ark  to  save  ! 


BISHOP   BULL.  143 


XXXVI. 


EECEIVES  THE  THANKS  OF  THE  GALLICAN  CHURCH, 


PETAVIUS,  a  French  priest,  in  his  great  zeal  for  the 
power  and  infallibility  of  a  general  Council,  asserted,  in  a 
work  on  the  subject,  that  the  Consubstantiality  of  GOD  the 
Son  with  GOD  the  Father,  decreed  as  an  Article  of  Faith  in 
the  Holy  (Ecumenical  Council  of  Niceea,  was  not  held, 
as  least  not  as  necessary  to  salvation,  by  many  of  the 
Fathers  before  the  date  of  that  assembly.  His  infer- 
ence (the  truth  of  which,  per  ae,  Archbishop  Bramhall 
allows)  was,  that  an  (Ecumenical  Council  may  make 
that  Faith  necessary  to  Salvation  which  before  was  not 
so.  Justly  indignant  at  such  an  attack  on  the  ortho- 
doxy of  the  Ante-Nicene  Fathers,  Bishop  Bull  pub- 
lished his  celebrated  Defensio  Fidei  Nic&ncB.  This 
work  procured  him  the  thanks  of  the  Gallican  Church 
in  synod  assembled,  a  compliment  the  more  remarkable, 
because  his  opponent  was  a  Frenchman. 

IMMORTAL  band  of  Champions !  once  endued 
With  wisdom,  and  with  counsel,  from  on  high. 
And  piercing  ken,  and  heavenly  fortitude, 


144  BISHOP  BULL. 

To  crush  that  thrice-accursed  heresy : 

Great  is  your  glory  now,  and  high  your  place 

In  the  eternal  mansions  of  the  sky. 

For  that  right  valiantly  ye  ran  the  race, 
For  that  right  fearlessly  ye  fought  the  fight, 
For  that  like  adamant  ye  set  your  face, 

Unto  the  death  to  battle  for  the  right 

Of  HIM,  the  CONSUBSTANTIAL  !    Therefore  now 

Do  ye  enjoy  the  Beatific  sight : 

With  crowns  of  light,  and  harps  of  gold  ye  bow, 
All  praise  and  power  ascribing  to  His  Name  ; 
With  Pastors  true,  as  ye  were,  to  their  vow, 

And  that  from  mighty  tribulations  came  : 
Nor  yet  on  earth  ye  lack  the  victor's  due ; 
Praise  through  the  Churches,  and  eternal  fame :  * 

What  though  ungodly  men,  an  envious  crew, 
Spurning  the  glories  of  a  former  day, 
Changing  old  verity  for  falsehood  new, 


*  The  Greek  Church  celebrates  the  Holy  Fathers  of  Nicaea  on  the 
19th  of  May. 


BISHOP    BULL  145 

Your  hard-won  diadem  would  tear  away ; 
Yet  undisturb'd  be,  Blessed  Saints,  your  rest : 
And  Thou,  O  Holy  Mother  Church,  display 

Thy  Heav'n-sent  strength  to  succour  the  opprest  : 
Send  forth,  in  all  his  might,  thy  Champion  meet, 
To  bless  the  Fathers  that  have  made  thee  blest, — 

The  evil  schemes  of  aliens  to  defeat. 
Thee,  too,  a  sister  Church,  the  battle  o'er, 
For  sympathy  of  gladness  do  we  greet ; 

Oh !  when  shall  strife  betwixt  us  be  no  more  ? 
Oh !  when  shall  one  Communion  bless  each  shore  ? 


146  THE   DEATH   OF 


XXXVII. 
®<atf)  of 


(The  Night  of  November  26—27,  1703.) 

BISHOP  Kidder  was  a  Churchman  of  the  school  of  Til- 
lotson,  a  mild  and  well-meaning  man,  but  sadly  de- 
ficient in  his  views  on  the  Authority  and  Privileges  of  the 
Church.  He  was  a  popular  preacher  in  London  during  the 
reign  of  King  James  the  Second  ;  and  was  consecrated 
to  Wells,  at  the  deprivation  of  Bishop  Ken  for  refusing 
the  oaths  to  William  of  Orange,  after  Beveridge  had 
declined  a  see  thus  vacated.  He  was  one  of  the  Prelates 
concerned  in  the  proposed  mutilation  of  the  Prayer- 
Book,  to  which  we  have  before  referred.  He  was  at 
Wells  in  the  great  storm  of  1  703  ;  and  a  stack  of  chim- 
neys fell  on  his  bed,  and  crushed  him  to  pieces, 


THE  Cathedral  chime  tolls  curfew  time, 
But  you  scarce  can  hear  the  bells  ; 

For  the  storm  is  loud,  and  the  thunder-cloud 
Is  over  the  Towers  of  Wells. 


BISHOP    KIDDER.  147 

In  heaven  above,  and  in  earth  below, 

There  is  sound  of  conflict  sore : 
That  was  a  night,  amidst  nights  of  woe 

To  be  chronicled  evermore. 

Many  lay  down  to  their  last  long  sleep, 

That  never  thought  of  ill : 
Many  a  skiff  was  in  the  deep 

That  in  the  deep  is  still ; 

Navies  that  past  with  pennon' d  mast 

From  conquest  of  the  foe, 
Fought  their  last  fight  with  the  sea  that  night, 

And  now  its  secrets  know. 

On  moor,  and  coast,  and  mountain-path, 
Woods,  waters,  and  tempests  roar'd ; 

And  from  Land's  End,  as  far  as  wild  Cape  Wrath, 
The  Vengeance  of  GOD  is  pour'd: 

But  the  storm  that  swells  round  the  Palace  of  Wells 
With  heavier  wrath  is  stored. 

A  Bishop  is  there,  in  S.  Andrew's  Chair,* 

That  there  hath  little  right ; 
And  sounds  of  fear  are  around  his  ear, 

And  his  conscience  awoke  that  night. 

*  The  Cathedral  Church   of  Wells    is   dedicated  in    honour  of  this 
Saint ;  from  S.  Andrew's  Wells  the  Town  derives  its  name. 


148  THE   DEATH   OF 

Never  the  roar  of  the  tempest  eeas'd : 

Heavier  wax'd  the  shower : 
The  wind  it  grappled  like  some  ill  beast 

On  the  roof  of  the  Virgin's  Tower  ;  * 
And  he  thought  of  the  wrong  he  had  done  his  soul 

By  flattering  usurped  power. 

He  knew  the  offence  that  had  driven  from  thence 

A  Bishop  without  a  friend; 
And  he  called,  in  his  fear,  his  servants  near 

To  ask  if  the  night  would  mend  ; 

And  as  he  spake,  great  oak-trees  brake, 

As  a  flame  of  fire  snaps  tow ; 
And  as  answer  they  made,  the  lightning  play'd 

With  brighter  and  fiercer  glow. 

Then  the  Bishop  knelt,  for  his  sins  he  felt, 

And  his  heart  was  sore  afraid  : 
And  he  laid  his  head  on  his  lordly  bed, 

And  a  hurried  prayer  he  pray'd , 
And  he  knew  not,  as  he  laid  him  down, 

That  his  latest  prayer  was  said. 

*  The  Yirjyiu'*  Tower  is  a  small  turret  iu  the  Palace. 


BISHOP   KIDDER.  149 

All  at  the  hour  of  Matins,  shone 

A  horrible  lightning  flash  ; 
Men  said  that  they  heard  a  single  moan 

At  the  end  of  a  fearful  crash  : 

And  in  that  hour,  and  on  that  spot, 

The  Bishop  passed  away  : 
And  whether  his  soul  is  at  peace,  or  not, 

Will  be  known  in  the  Judgment-day : 
But  He  on  the  Cross  That  redeem'd  our  loss 

To  the  uttermost  rescue  may  ! 

"  Judge  not,"  saith  the  LORD,  "  that  ye  be  notjudg'd," 

And  we  would  not  herein  offend ; 
But  we  know  what  the  guilt  of  the  Bishop  was, 

And  we  cannot  forget  his  end. 


150  CONSECRATION    OF   BISHOPS 


XXXVIII. 
J^llarttw  antt  Sage 

ARE  CONSECRATED  IN  SCOTLAND. 


(The  Conversion  of  S.  Paul,  1704.) 

THE  enormities  exercised  by  William  of  Orange  on 
the  Church  of  Scotland  are  less  known  than  they  de- 
serve to  be.  Then,  and  long  after,  not  only  was  the 
consecration  of  a  Bishop  in  her  Communion  felony,  but 
the  simple  fact  of  using  her  service  was  also  felony. 
The  Bishops  of  William's,  and  the  succeeding  reigns, 
had  much  to  answer  for  in  not  opposing  their  voice  to 
the  Presbyterian  persecution.  So  utterly  enfeebled  did 
the  Church  of  Scotland  become,  that  till  her  Bishops 
brought  themselves  into  notoriety,  by  consecrating,  in 
17 84,  Dr.  Seabury,  Bishop  of  Connecticut,  Bishop  Horsley 
did  not  know  of  her  existence.  He  thenceforward  be- 
came her  warm  defender.  Bishops  Fullarton  and  Sage 
were  the  first  who  were  consecrated  after  the  Scotch 
Church  was  deprived  of  Her  Temporalities.  Since  then, 
forty-four  Bishops  have  been  their  successors,  many  of 


FULLAETON    AND   SAGE.  151 

them  consecrated  in  times  of  great  affliction.  The 
barbarities  practised  towards  the  Church  after  the  battle 
of  Culloden  would  be  incredible,  were  they  not  so  well 
attested  by  Bishop  Forbes. 

THE  snow-drifts  were  thick  on  the  mountain  and  moor, 
The  windows  wrere  barred,  and  the  doors  were  secure  ; 
The  cottage  was  lonely,  and  mildew'd  the  room, 
And  the  tapers  that  gleamed  there  ill  lighted  its  gloom  : 

The  brave  Church  of  Scotland  !  Her  Bishops  were  there,  * 
Their  strength  was  departed,  and  hoary  their  hair  ; 
And  they  perill'd  their  lives  at  the  end  of  their  race, 
To  consecrate  those  who  should  stand  in  their  place. 

Time  was  that  the  mitre  and  staff  were  their  own ; 
The  Cathedral  and  Palace  their  footsteps  had  known  : 
Till  he,  whose  name  reeks  with  the  blood  of  Glencoe, 
Had  schismatics  for  friends,  and  the  Church  for  his  foe  ; 

He  laid  Her,  the  insolent,  under  his  ban, 
And  the  Bishops  of  GOD  were  the  felons  of  man  : 
Her  Temples  he  sack'd,— he  assaulted  Her  sore  ; 
He  seized  all  Her  wealth,  and  he  could  do  no  more  ! 

*  The  consecrators  were  Dr.  Paterson,  Bishop  of  Glasgow ;  Dr.  Eose, 
of  Edinburgh  ;  Dr.  Doug-las,  of  Dunblane. 


152  BISHOPS   FULLARTON  AND   SAGE. 

For  Her  treasures  Celestial,  Her  pride  and  Her  joy, 
No  monarch  could  give  Her,  no  monarch  destroy  : 
And  Her  Priests  suffer'd  gladly  the  worst  he   could 

send, 
If  they  might  but  be  faithful  and  true  to  the  end. 

They  were  hunted  on   mountains,  they  hid  them   in 

rocks ; 

They  fled  with  the  deer,  and  lay  down  with  the  fox  : 
They  met  on  the  moor  by  the  cold  winter  moon ; 
They  were  watch'd  and  pursued  by  the  bloody  dragoon : 

In  peril  and  fear  in  one  place  they  have  met, 
And  in  seemly  array  are  the  Fatherhood  set : 
These  lift  up  the  Hand,  and  those  bend  on  the  knees, 
And  they  give  them  the  Grace  and  the  Power  of  the 
Keys. 

The  brave  Church  of  Scotland  !     Her  perils  are  o'er; 
We  look  for  the  times  of  Her  Glory  once  more : 
The  days  of  the  strangers'  usurping  are  told ; 
Oh  !  when  shall  the  Shepherds  return  to  their  fold  ? 


THE  DEATH   OF   BISHOP  JOLLY.  153 


XXXIX. 

of 


DK.  Jolly  was  consecrated  Bishop  of  Moray  in  1796. 
Probably  none,  in  these  times,  ever  approached  more 
nearly  to  the  model  of  a  Primitive  Bishop.  He  led  a 
life  of  poverty,  giving  away  his  income  in  charity.  In 
extreme  old  age,  he  never  permitted  any  one  to  sleep 
in  his  cottage,  and  one  morning  was  found  dead  in  bed, 
the  eyes  being  closed,  and  the  corpse  stretched.  Re- 
port affirms  that  the  physician  thought  it  impossible 
that  he  could  have  placed  himself  in  the  position  in 
which  he  was  discovered. 

OH  say  not,  though  the  Church  below 

Hath  lost  Her  first  resplendence, 
No  Angel-visitings  we  know, 

No  Heav'n-bestow'd  attendance ! 
Say  not  Her  brightest  things  are  fled, 

And  all  Her  glories  parted : 
Nor  Blessed  Spirits  tend  the  dead 

That  were  Her  faithful-hearted ! 


154  THE   DEATH   OF 

Break  not  the  quiet  of  the  scene 

By  vain  lament  or  weeping  : 
'Twixt  life  and  death,  in  state  serene, 

That  holy  form  is  sleeping ! 
It  is  not  rest !  for  never  rest 

So  deep  a  quiet  gaineth ! 
It  is  not  death !  for  deep  imprest 

The  smile  of  life  remain eth  ! 


No  earthly  hands  thy  eye-lids  clos'd, 

Love's  latest  care  to  shew  thee  : 
No  earthly  hands  thy  limbs  compos'd, 

And  smooth'd  thy  couch  below  thee  : 
But  who  can  tell  what  met  thine  eye, 

So  calm  in  faith  and  patience  ? 
What  bright,  angelic  forms, — what  high 

Celestial  visitations  ? 


Alone,  yet  not  alone,  in  death ! 

No  mortal  arm  was  near  thee  ! 
But  better  friends  receiv'd  thy  breath, 

And  waited  round  to  cheer  thee  ! 


BISHOP   JOLLY.  155 

Then  first  they  met  thy  raptur'd  eyes  ; 

They  parted  from  thee  never : 
But,  in  the  realms  of  Paradise, 

Are  with  thee  now  and  ever  ! 


XL. 

arting  of  tf)e  Iftisljops  of  Australia  antr  Neto 

AT     SYDNEY. 


(A.D.  1842.) 

THE  incidents  connected  with  the  meeting  of  Bishop 
Broughton  and  Bishop  Selwyn,  the  address  delivered  by 
the  former,  and  the  embarkation  of  the  latter,  must  be 
fresh  in  the  memory  of  every  Churchman. 

THE  cliff  above  is  dark  and  bleak ; 

The  waves  are  green  below  ; 
The  Bass  Rock  rears  his  granite  peak,  * 

And  dashes  them  to  snow ! 

*  The  Bass  Rock  is  a  remarkable  object  in  the  strait  that  divides 
New  Holland  from  Van  Dieman's  Land. 


156  THE   PARTING   OF   THE  BISHOPS 

Autumn  her  richest  treasures  pours 

On  all  the  lovely  plain  ! 
Wreathes  flowers  to  deck  Cape  Melville's  shores, 

And  smiles  on  sweet  Yarrayne !  * 

On  sorrowing  hearts  that  morning  shone : 

The  bark  is  in  the  bay, 
That  bears  New  Zealand's  Bishop  on 

To  regions  far  away : 
There  had  they  met,  high  thoughts  to  share, 

Those  holy  Fathers  twain  : 
There  must  they  part,  as  those  that  ne'er 

Can  hope  to  meet  again ! 

High  thoughts  indeed,  and  smiles  and  tears, 

Upon  that  alien  strand, 
Of  all  the  Church's  hopes  and  fears, 

Committed  to  their  hand  : 
Of  all  the  souls,  an  unknown  host, 

That  from  their  former  state, 
Of  Water  and  the  HOLY  GHOST 

Shall  be^regenerate  ! 

*  The  Yarrayne  is  a  river  to  the  west  of  Sydney. 


OF   AUSTRALIA   AND   NEW    ZEALAND.  157 

Of  Holy  Bishops  that  have  borne  * 

Good  rule  in  days  of  ill ; 
Of  foes  that  they  may  laugh  to  scorn, 

Since  GOD  is  with  them  still : 
Their  fellowship  and  sacred  vow 

One  sweet  Communion  seals  : 
And  for  his  Brother's  blessing  now 

New  Zealand's  Bishop  kneels. 

Joy  to  the  Bishop  that  is  gone, 

Untrammel'd  by  the  State  ! 
GOD  guard  his  steps  !     GOD'S  benison 

On  all  his_counsels  wait ! 
Soon  for  the  humble  tent,  where  still  f 

The  LORD'S  great  name  is  plac'd, 
The  fair  Cathedral  crown  the  hill, 

The  village-church  the  waste ! 

*  "OfPolycarp  and  Ignatius,  Bishops  like  ourselves,"  said  the  Bishop 
of  Australia  in  his  farewell  address. 

+  For  the  convenience  of  Daily  Service,  the  Bishop  took  with  him  a 
tent,  constructed  in  the  form  of  a  cross.  It  accompanies  him  on  his 
journeys. 


SEAL  up  the  book,  and  make  the  vision  fast, 
Yet  for  a  little  while :  the  end  is  not  yet  here  : 
While  Holy  Church,  secure  in  mercies  past, 
Looks  patient  on,  through  each  succeeding  year. 
The  gathering  of  the  ill  both  far  and  near, 
Arm'd  with  earth's  might,  with  carnal  wisdom  stor'd, 
Affrights  Her  not,  Who  knows  that  She  must  steer 
Her  course  through  that  Bed  Sea  by  Martyrs  scor'd, 
To  Her  Eternal  Home,  to  Her  Triumphant  LORD. 

The  deeds  of  daring  that  must  yet  be  done, 

The  Holy  Passions  that  must  yet  be  borne, 

The  battle-fields  by  Martyrs  to  be  won, 

How  oft  the  weak  shall  laugh  the  proud  to  scorn, 

Angelic  strength  shall  succour  the  forlorn, 

And  patience  vanquish  wrath,  is  writ  on  high  : 

The  mystic  curtain  must  not  yet  be  torn, 

The  Church's  future  triumphs  meet  the  eye  : 

His  time  is  not  yet  come  Who  doeth  marvellously ! 


L'ENVOY.  159 

Seal  up  the  vision,  for  the  end  is  not ; 

This  only  know  we  now,  nor  fear  to  know, 

The  toil  before  the  Crown  must  be  our  lot, 

And  none  can  earn  a  prize  without  a  foe. 

But  when  round  Holy  Church,  in  whispers  low 

The  presage  of  the  coming  storm  we  hear, 

When  through  the  earth  sounds  one  deep  tone  of  woe, 

When  the  sea  roars,  and  men's  hearts  fail  for  fear, 

Then  let  Her  lift  Her  Head,  for  Her  reward  is  near ! 


THE    END. 


N.B.  —  Booksellers  will  be  supplied  on  application  with  copies  of  this  List. 
February.  1845. 


IN  THE  PRESS,  OR 

RECENTLY  PUBLISHED  BY  JAMES  BURNS, 

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These  re  issues  will  be  printed  on  a  cheaper  paper,  and  with  some  retrench- 
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it  is  hoped,  the  views  of  all  classes  of  readers  will  be  met. 

The  following,  among  others,  will  speedily  be  issued: — 

THE  SIEGE  OF  LICHFIELD:  a  Tale  of  the  Great  Rebellion. 

MARCO  VISCONTI ;  from  the  Italian  of  Grossi. 

FABLES  AND  PARABLES  from  the  German  of  Lessing  and  others, 
with  a  Sketch  of  Fabulous  Literature. 

THE  FIVE  EMPIRES  :  a  Popular  View  of  Ancient  History. 

NORTHERN   MINSTRELSY:  Select  Specimens  of  Scottish  Song. 

LIVES  OF  ENGLISHMEN  IN  PAST  DAYS. 

EVENINGS  WITH  THE  OLD  STORY  TELLERS  —  ANCIENT 
MORAL  TALES,  from  the  Gesta  Romanorum,  &c. 

REMARKABLE  ADVENTURES  BY  SEA  AND  LAND. 

LIVES  OF  FAMOUS  GREEKS  AND  ROMANS  (from  Plutarch). 
2  Parts. 

BALLADS  AND  METRICAL  TALES;  selected  from  Percy,  Ritson, 
Evans,  Jamieson,  Scott's  Minstrelsy,  &c.  &c. 

A  POPULAR  HISTORY  OF  THE  CRUSADES,  with  Sketches  of 
Chivalry. 


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BOOKS    PUBLISHED    BY    JAMES    BURNS, 


'  $  trestle  Utirarg— continued. 


CHURCHES,     THEIR      STRUCTURE,      ARRANGEMENT,      AND 
DECORATION. 

RICH  AND  POOR ;  or,  the  Warden  of  Berkingholt.    2  Parts. 

TALES  from  the  "  Phantasus,"  &c.  of  Ludwig  Tieck. 

CHURCH  CLAVERING;  or,  the  Schoolmaster  and  his  Pupils. 

THE  TWELVE  NIGHTS'  ENTERTAINMENTS. 

THE    HISTORY    OF    PETER    SCHLEMIHL.,    A  new  edition,  with 
Appendix  and  Engravings. 

TALES  OF  THE  VILLAGE.    3  Parts,  each  complete  in  itself. 

ROMANTIC  TALES  FROM  THE  EAST.    2  Parts. 

SELECT  LETTERS. 

HISTORY  OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION. 

SELECT  VOYAGES  AND  TRAVELS. 

LUCIUS;  or,  the  Flight  of  Constantine. 
&c.  &c.  &c. 


Pmttcal  e&mttan's  Htfirarg ; 

A    SERIES    OP 

CHEAP    PUBLICATIONS,    FOR    GENERAL    CIRCULATION. 


MANUAL  OF  CHRISTIAN  DEVOTION.— [SPINCKES.] 

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THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST.— [A  KEMPIS.] 

PRACTICE  OF  DIVINE  LOVE.— [KEN.] 

LEARN  TO  DIE.— [SUTTON.] 

MANUAL  OF  CHRISTIAN  DOCTRINE. 

MANUAL  OF  PRAYER  FOR  THE  YOUNG.— [KEN.] 

GUIDE  TO  THE  HOLY  COMMUNION.— [NELSON.] 

THE  GOLDEN  GROVE.— [TAYLOR.] 

GUIDE  TO  THE  PENITENT.— [KETTLEWELL.] 

HYMNS  FOR  PUBLIC  AND  PRIVATE  USE. 

DAILY  EXERCISES.— [HORNZCK.] 


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I  PROMESSI  SPOS1;    or,   THE  BETROTHED 
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22                     BOOKS    PUBLISHED    BY    JAMES    BURNS, 

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Love.     Cloth. 

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tians.  With  Engravings.  Cloth. 

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graphy.    Vol.  I. 

Iz.  Walton— Sir  R.  and  Lady  Fanshawe— 
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Paget's  Tales  of  the  Village.  Third 
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Tracts  on  Christian  Doctrine  and 
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roan. 

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5.  Selected  Letters,  by  the  Rev.  T. 

Chamberlain. 

6.  Church  Poetry. 

7.  Companion  to    the  Sunday  Ser- 

vices.   In  one  vol. 


AND  SIXPENCE  EACH. 

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7.  Churton's  Early  English  Church. 

8.  Rodolph  the  Voyager. 

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and  Self-Conceit. 

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6.  Englishman's  Mag.    1843.    Cloth. 

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Five  Tales  of  Old  Time. 
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Louisa. 


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THE 

JUVENILE 
ENGLISHMAN'S     LIBRARY, 

EDITED   BY  THE   REV.  F.  E.  PAGET,  M.A. 


IT  is  proposed  under  the  above  title  to  put  forth,  a  series 
of  Works,  which,  while  maintaining  the  same  princi- 
ples as  those  of  the  popular  collection,  entitled  "The 
Englishman's  Library,"  shall  be  adapted  to  a  younger 
class  of  readers.  Some  of  these  volumes  will  be  more 
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Of  the  works  in  preparation  some  will  be  of  a  more 
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will  be  of  a  lighter  description,  but  such  as  without 
being  directly  religious,  shall  nevertheless  inculcate 
sound  principles,  and  tend  to  develope  the  youthful 
Churchman's  character. 

The  volumes  will  appear  at  brief  intervals,  at  a  price 
varying  from  eighteen-pence  upwards,  printed  neatly, 
and  embellished  with  Engravings. 


2  JUVENILE  ENGLISHMAN'S  LIBRARY. 

The  whole  will  be  placed  under  the  Editorial  super- 
intendence of  the  Rev.  E.  PAGET,  author  of  "  Tales  of 
the  Village." 


The  following-  Volumes  are  already  issued: — 

I.  TALES  of  the  VILLAGE  CHILDREN.     By  the    EDITOR. 

First  Series,  including  "  The  Singers,"  "  The  Wake,"  The 
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Sunday  Walk  and  a  Sunday  Talk."  Demy  18mo.,  with 
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A  Short  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND  for  Children. 
HISTORIES  of  Ancient  GREECE  and  ROME. 

A  GEOGRAPHY,   carefully  compiled,  and  including  the  latest 
discoveries,  as  well  as  ECCLESIASTICAL  INFORMATION 

STORIES    FROM    HERODOTUS.      By  the  Rev.   W.  ADAMS, 
Author  of  "  The  Shadow  of  the  Cross." 

LAYS    of   FAITH    and    LOYALTY.      By  the  REV.  EDWARD 
CHURTON,  M.A. 

A  Series  of  HISTORIES  of  MODERN  EUROPE,  for  Schools  and 
Families. 


JUVENILE    ENGLISHMAN  S    LIBRARY.  3 

TALES  AND  ALLEGORIES  for  Young  Children,  with  Pictures. 
The  LIFE  OF  JOHN  EVELYN,  by  the  EDITOR. 
A  Volume  of  POETRY,  Original  and  Select. 

READING  BOOKS.      Three  Progressive  Series,  selected  with 
great  care,  from  sound  sources. 

BOOKS  OF   DEVOTION  AND    SELF   EXAMINATION  for 

Young  Persons  ;  by  the  EDITOR. 


Sunday  School  Rewards  by  the  Rev  F.  "E.  Paget. 

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NEW   HISTORY   OF   ENGLAND 

FOR  SCHOOLS  AND  FAMILIES. 

Just  published,  Foolscap  8vo.,  closely  printed, 

A  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND,  by  the  Rev.  G.  A. 
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BY  THE.  REV.  F.  E.  PAGET. 


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IV.  THE  PAGEANT;    or,  PLEASURE  AND  ITS  PRICE. 
Foolscap  8vo.,  4s.  6d. 

V.  THE   WARDEN  OF  BERKINGHOLT;    or,  RICH  AND 

POOR.  With  Notes,  and  an  Appendix  of  Religious  Placards. 
Second  Edition,  foolscap  8vo.,  5s. 

VI.  MILFORD  MALVOISIN;  or,  PEWS  AND  PEWHOLDERS, 

with  Illustrations.    Foolscap  8vo.,  4s.  6d. 

VII.  ST.  ANTHOLIN'S  ;  or,  OLD  CHURCHES  AND  NEW. 

A  Tale  for  the  Times.    With  Illustrations.    Foolscap  8vo., 
3s.  6d.    Third  Edition. 

VIII.  TALES  OF  THE  VILLAGE:  First  Series.    The  English 
Churchman  and  the  Romanist.     Cloth,  3s. 

IX.  TALES  OF  THE  VILLAGE:  Second  Series.  The  English 
Churchman  and  the  Dissenter.    3s.  6d. 

X.  TALES  OF     THE    VILLAGE  :     Third    and    conluding 
series.     The  Churchman  and  the  Infidel.    3s.  6d. 

XI.  MEMORANDA    PAROCHIALIA  ;    or,    THE  PARISH 
PRIEST'S  GUIDE.     A  new  edition,   printed  on  writing 
paper.    3s.  6d. 

XII.  A  TRACT  UPON  TOMB-STONES :  or,  Suggestions  for  the 
consideration  of  Persons  intending  to  set  up  that  kind  of 
Monument  to  the  Memory  of  Deceased   Friends.      Demy 
8vo.,  with  numerous  Illustrations,  price  Is. 


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